


Sylph

by Ebhenah



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Beaches, Bisexual Lance, Dance Teacher! Lance, Dancer Lance (Voltron), Demisexual Keith (Voltron), Demisexual Shiro (Voltron), Divorced Shiro, Dry Humping, Family Feels, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Gay Disaster Shiro (Voltron), Gay Shiro, Keith Is A Little Shit, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Mentions of canon violence, Moving On, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, Starting Over, Storms, Tattoo, Thirsty Shiro, Vers Shiro, aerials, crepes are evil, deliberately oblivious Lance, discussions of grief and mourning, grown-up Lance, mentions of childhood accidents, necking, past inadvertant other-man Lance, responsible alcohol use, retired Shiro, sexy dreams, suspicious Altean Honey, topics of mental illness, vers Lance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:34:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 49,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23018635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebhenah/pseuds/Ebhenah
Summary: In the decade since Allura's sacrifice, Shiro'd fallen in love, gotten married, retired, had issues, sought therapy, separated, filed for divorce and moved on. Filed for divorce but never finalized it. He and Curtis got along fine. He stayed in the house, Curtis lived on base. It worked until it didn't. There was no rush to sign anything. In order to finalize the divorce, they had to sell the house. Shiro found a new house. No problem. Except, he has to be out of the old house 2 weeks before he can move into the new one.Veronica and Keith had the same idea- He could use a bit of sun. Lance would love the company- which was how Shiro ended up in Cuba. He was looking forward to the first real vacation he'd had in years! He'd heard so much about Lance's beach house and it would be great to hang out with his old friend & catch up on everything that he'd been up to in the last few years.The years in Cuba had been very good to Lance and the skinny kid he'd gone to space with was a full-grown, very impressive man, now. Time and distance gave him a new perspective and he started to understand just how well matched he and Lance might be. Was it too much to hope that Lance might be seeing him with fresh eyes, too?
Relationships: Keith/Ryan Kinkade, Lance/Shiro (Voltron), Marco/Elena, Nadia Rizavi/Veronica, Past Allura/Lance mentioned, past Adam/Shiro mentioned, past Shiro/ Curtis mentioned
Comments: 52
Kudos: 153





	Sylph

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Shance Love Bang](https://shancebang2020.tumblr.com/) with [art](https://twitter.com/FenixSeraph/status/1235424519713632256) from the amazing Fenix, who can be found on [twitter](https://twitter.com/FenixSeraph) and [Tumblr](https://fenixseraph.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thanks and big love to [Punk](https://twitter.com/PunkInGlitter) for being awesome and betaing this for me!

Somehow, a decade passed since Allura's sacrifice, reflected Shiro. So much had changed in those ten years. In that time, he had fallen in love, bought a cute little house, gotten married, retired from active duty, run into issues, sought therapy, separated, filed for divorce, and moved on.

Filed for divorce a couple of years ago, but never finalized it. Not until just a few weeks back. He and Curtis got along fine. There was no rush. He stayed in the house, Curtis lived on base. It worked. Until it didn't. There was no rush to sign anything, until there was. In order to finalize the divorce, they had to sell the house. Fine.

He’d found a new house he liked even better. One that didn’t house fading memories of a doomed marriage in its corners and crevices. Relocating was no problem since he worked from home. Except... he needed to be out of the old house two weeks before he could move into the new one- maybe longer, depending on the renos. Renos that _should_ have been finished almost a month ago… but then they’d discovered ‘issues’ with the plumbing and a minor upgrade had turned into a complete overhaul.

For once, both Veronica McClain and Keith had the same idea, and pushed hard for it... He needed a vacation, they'd said. He shouldn't have to deal with Curtis getting the last of his crap out of storage in the basement… likely with his new fiance in tow, they'd pointed out. He could use a bit of sun, they'd encouraged. Lance would love the company, they'd insisted... which was how Shiro ended up here- in the passenger seat of the shuttle Veronica used to commute to and from Cuba.

Keith and Roni had been right- Lance had been more than happy to play host and tour guide during his brief stint of not-quite-homelessness. Two weeks or so of rum punch and beach days and music and food and not worrying about flooring samples or escrow or lawyers sounded like heaven, to be honest. Plus, if there was anyone who knew how to relax and make the most of a day off, it was Lance McClain!

He was actually really looking forward to the first real vacation he'd had in years. Lance had a beach house- so close to the water it had been built on stilts to protect it against flooding!- and since the day he'd bought it, he'd insisted that all of the former Paladins had a standing invitation to make use of one of his guest rooms anytime, and then grumbled loudly at the decided lack of people taking him up on that. It was going to be great to hang out with his old friend and catch up with everything that he'd been up to in the last few years.

He just needed to survive Roni’s piloting first.

Damn!

* * *

“You okay there?” chuckled Lance when he caught sight of Shiro. “You’re looking a little green around the gills.”

Shiro glanced from Lance to Veronica, his friend and former coworker was giving him a distracted wave, already on her phone and headed away from them. “Yeah. Fine… just… been a while since I’ve flown with her.”

Lance cracked up, reaching out to grab one of his bags and slinging it over his shoulder easily. Over the years, skinny, lanky Lance had filled out. If it wasn’t for the bright blue of his eyes and the trademark McClain grin, it might actually be difficult to match the man in front of him with the kid that had awakened the Blue Lion all those years ago. “Oh yeah, Veronica is amazing at many things, but I got the piloting genes in the family- yikes!”

“She _did_ actually pass her flight tests, right?” he asked, because he was honestly starting to doubt it.

“I don’t know,” mused Lance, gesturing for Shiro to follow him out of the little Garrison outpost that was housing the shuttle until Veronica left again. “I was on the other end of the universe when she would have been tested. I gotta say… even money that whoever was in charge of the testing just… gave her a pass because they were afraid of her.”

Now, it was his turn to laugh, “she does have a certain _presence_ , doesn’t she?”

“I was more scared of getting in trouble with her than my parents. So, I think it is safe to say I agree.” Lance backed into the door, the press of his back triggering the latch. The metal framed door with tinted glass was ugly but practical and as Shiro stepped past his old friend into the tropical air, he was struck by how gorgeous Cuba really was, even on an underfunded Garrison outpost with its boxy, utilitarian buildings and endless parking lots. He closed his eyes and tipped his head up to the late afternoon sun, letting the heat settle into his skin and the brightness light up his eyelids. He could smell the ocean and the lush greenery, even here. All the tiny details that made this sun and this heat feel so different from that back home.

“Welcome to paradise, Shiro,” Lance said softly, one strong hand clapping onto Shiro’s shoulder and shaking lightly. “Nowhere in the universe will top Cuba… and with enough to this visit for me to properly show it off, you’re _finally_ going to understand why I was always so damn homesick. Alright- my truck is this way. Let’s put some distance between us and the Garrison, yeah?”

The truck was old. Old enough that it made Shiro do a double take. It was blue… mostly. One door was a beige color and the other had a couple of patches of reddish colored auto-filler. It was sturdy and utilitarian and not at all what he would have expected Lance to be driving. His surprise must have shown on his face because Lance snorted. “I’m not some showy kid anymore. Nuevo Azul here suits me just fine. I can fit all my shit in the bed no matter what adventure I’m going on, and she’s damn reliable. Don’t worry- the engine runs like a dream, and I’ve got all the fancy tech that Pidge could cram in here. She’ll take good care of us, you’ll see.”

“New Blue?” he asked, translating the name in his head. His Spanish was rusty, but he was technically fluent- although he sometimes struggled to keep up with the unique dialect that Cubans spoke. It was just… so fast… and there was so. much. slang. Lance tossed the bag he was carrying into the bed of the truck and reached out to do the same with the one Shiro was toting.

“Compared to the Lions, everything else seems pretty humdrum, but my girl here… she’s basically perfect for my life now… and she’s blue. So,” he shrugged as he climbed into the driver’s seat, “seemed fitting. Now, tell me all about your new house!”

He did, describing the old farmhouse he’d found on the outskirts of Garrison city and the epic saga of trying to get a modern, functional bathroom in the place. That led to Lance griping about the issues he’d encountered with his own house and the muttering about homeowner headaches carried them all the way to the private road that led to Lance’s beach house.

He’d seen pictures, of course. Lance had never given up his love of selfies and tended to spam the group chat with grinning snapshots that had the house and surrounding land as a backdrop. Still, as the truck approached the place, Shiro went quiet, because no photo could do this justice.

Sunset was still a ways off, but the sky had just started to show hints of purple and pink. The water looked so perfect that it was easy to forget it was real. In the time since the occupation, the vegetation had recovered and thrived. Palma, avocado, ylang ylang, cedar, and several other trees Shiro couldn’t identify at a glance crowded close to the road and combined with the spray from the nearby ocean to create a fragrant air that was distinctly Cuban.

The road curved and Lance’s house came into view. At the moment it didn’t seem to be all that close to the water, but Shiro knew that those stilts it rested on had protected it from hurricane-related flooding on more than one occasion. He knew that those pillars were well anchored and stable, but they still looked almost ethereal surrounded by white sand that drifted past the borders of the house proper. It spilled onto the courtyard- paved in brightly colored bricks and stones that he knew Lance had salvaged during the time he spent volunteering to rebuild the urban centers targeted by Sendak.

The multi-level house itself was a slightly more sedate color, a sun-bleached pink that contrasted beautifully with the ocean and the trees and the vibrant teal of the trim. The side that faced the water had a huge deck that carried that neoclassical-balcony-feel that was so common in Cuba, edged with a concrete railing and furnished with an umbrella-ed table and chairs, a barbeque, and some reclining deck chairs. Beyond that, the exterior wall featured a row of tall windows topped with Spanish arches and tucked behind plum colored wrought iron gates. The whole place was trimmed in criss-crossed strings of hanging lanterns and what he would have called ‘Christmas lights’ back in the states.

The side that faced the courtyard and driveway was also sporting large windows (tall rectangular ones this time) that were fronted by the same plum-colored wrought iron. They were smaller and more broadly spaced, flanking a stairwell to the entrance. “Oh… wow,” he wouldn’t have been able to keep the awe out of his voice if he tried and he really didn’t bother trying to hide it. “Your house is gorgeous!”

“Yeah- I still have the same reaction like at least once a week,” Lance laughed, “I can’t believe I lucked into scoring this land! There’s an _island_ Shiro! I own an island! I mean, it’s basically smaller than Keith and Ryan’s apartment, but it is a whole island and it is _mine_!”

“If there is anyone who is meant to own an island, it is you, Lance,” he replied, “but yeah… all of this is… unbelievably beautiful.”

“Mmhmm… I’ve turned into such a homebody, because… I mean… just _look_ at that!” He sighed, “most days, by the time I am done work, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than here, you know?”

“It makes perfect sense, Lance. You don’t need to justify it to me.”

“Yeah… I know, sorry. My sister was just poking me to rejoin the Galaxy Garrison again so I’m prickly.”

“Is that something you are interested in?” He asked as Lance pulled up to the house and parked the truck. “Not piloting, I mean… the Galaxy Garrison, itself.”

Lance stopped, taking a moment to gather his thoughts, “right now? No. There are times when I miss it, but it’s like missing high school- I don’t really want to go back. Maybe I’m still healing, processing… I don’t really know for sure, but it is starting to feel more and more like that is my past.” He sighed, fingers drumming on the steering wheel, “I’m not so old that I’d rule it out forever, though. Maybe in five years I’ll feel differently. You know?”

“Yeah, I went through the same kind of process before I retired,” he answered, trying not to think about the plans that had led to that decision. Plans that had never come to pass. “Veronica bugs me to come back, too. So, it’s more about her than you.”

“Oh, I know. We had all these plans about exploring the universe together… and then the only time we got to work side by side was fighting a war. Now that things are peaceful, she wants a chance to do all the stuff we used to talk about as kids.” Killing the engine, he opened his door, “and she just really liked working with you. She misses her work hubby, Shiro. Take that as a compliment!”

Laughing together, they grabbed Shiro’s gear and headed up the steps to Lance’s place. The interior was more familiar thanks to, again- selfies, but also the video calls they’d all have every so often. So, Shiro knew the basic layout of the common living areas pretty well. The deck led into the open concept living room, dining area and kitchen, which was furnished with an eclectic mix of family hand-me-downs, alien furnishings, modern pieces, and more finds from Lance’s days working with the salvage crews. Framed pictures and little mementos in shadow boxes decorated the walls, and there were floating shelves crammed with a surprising number of books.

“So, not sure if you remember from my cell phone tour,” Lance said easily, punching a couple of buttons on some kind of kitchen appliance he couldn’t identify, “but this is the living room and the kitchen and stuff. Feel free to grab any book that catches your eye- they aren’t _all_ in Spanish. Likewise, help yourself to anything you find in the kitchen. If you finish something, just scan the barcode with the sensor on the fridge so I know to get more. Umm… dishwasher, microwave, the usual. I cook most days, and don’t worry- I remember that you don’t eat meat. I can totally rock vegetarian meals, but if you like to cook you are welcome to.”

“I think it is best if I stick to morning coffee, salad prep, and clean up,” he laughed, “I’ve finally accepted that cooking isn’t my forte. I use a meal service back home.”

“Yeah,” Lance scrunched his face up and nodded, “I kinda figured. Anyway- your room is upstairs. Follow me.” Shiro trailed behind him and Lance gave a quick rundown as he walked. Also located on the first floor was a ‘workout room’, a half-bath, the laundry room, and what Lance called the ‘media room’. From what Shiro could tell, the media room held a wet bar, a gamers’ couch, a huge television and several ‘retro’ video game systems. Upstairs held Lance’s office, a storage room, the master bath, and all the bedrooms- of which there were four.

“So,” Lance said at the top of the stairs, smirking at him, “do you want a view of the ocean? Orrr do you want to be woken up in the morning by the birds in the trees behind the house?”

“Tough choice.” For most people. Not for him. He didn’t really have to think about it. He was born on an island. Grew up close to the water, and had spent the majority of his adult life either in the desert or in space. “Ocean.”

“Smart man- right this way. My room is through that door, but you are over here.” He opened a door and ushered Shiro in. The whole house had bamboo floors, and this room was no different, but there was a large grey and yellow rug taking up a big chunk of the floor. The walls were a soft yellow, so pale it looked white at first glance, and all the accents were done in shades of purple and gray. A huge bed with a mosquito net and piled high with pillows was centered on the far wall, flanked by wooden nightstands that looked hand-carved. Beside the closet sat a dresser, its surface decorated with pretty bowls holding seashells and interesting rocks, as well as a framed picture of the team. It looked to be a promo shot from the Voltron Show.

“This is gorgeous! Your designer really has an eye,” he gushed, dropping his bag on the bed.

“No designer- just me and my mom, but I’ll be sure to tell her you said that.”

“Please do. How has she been? I’ve missed the weekly updates on the McClain clan I used to get from your sister before I left the Atlas.” They chatted amiably about Lance’s family until a timer chimed from the kitchen. Shiro was surprised to discover that they’d spent two entire hours happily talking about nothing and watching the water through the window of his guest room. Neither of them had even sat down!

* * *

Dinner was a casual meal of what Lance called ‘Faker Ropa Vieja’ (which was made with mushrooms instead of beef), rice, beans, and a tossed salad, that they ate out on the deck. In the desert, the temperature tended to follow the sun. That wasn’t the case so close to the ocean, where the humid air hung onto the warmth long after the sun dipped down beyond the horizon.

As twilight settled into evening proper, Shiro kept waiting for a chill on the breeze that never came. Lance lit a fire all the same and they talked and drank beers until they settled into a pleasant, buzzed quiet, just soaking up the evening. Vaguely, he was aware of finding his way back to his room and falling into the big bed.

Morning came late for Shiro, and brought with it a killer hangover. He found a bottle of water and a bottle of headache pills on the counter of the bathroom, a blue post-it note with his name scrawled in Lance’s familiar handwriting: big uppercase S followed by small, neat uppercase letters for the rest of his name and three exclamation points. He took the pills, drank the water, and got ready for the day.

“Look who’s up,” Lance said by way of greeting, his voice low but pleasant. “Alright, I can’t believe I don’t already know this about you, but are you a big greasy breakfast hangover cure person, or a don’t make me look at anything that isn’t a smoothie hangover person? I got you covered, either way- just need to know what I’m doing here.”

“I’m a hair of the dog and big bowl of granola with yogurt hangover person,” he answered, dropping into a kitchen chair far, far from the bank of windows and the bright morning light. Lance looked like he’d been up for ages already, hair still damp and slightly curling at the ends, no sign of any ill effects from however much he’d drank the night before.

“Bold choice! Bold choice, indeed. I’m on it.” The headache pills had already started working a little, which was good, because the smile Lance flashed him was so bright it would have been painful without them. Stifling a groan, he lowered his head to the table, enjoying the cool surface of the wood and listening to Lance move around. Within a few minutes, he recognized the sound of his breakfast being set on the table. “Eat up. The sooner you feel better, the sooner we can actually figure out what kind of stuff you want to do on your vay-cay! Cuba has lots to offer, so it works best if I know where to start. Plus, I have a couple of surprises planned for later in the week.”

“How?” he asked, after downing half the beer in one guzzle. “How are you so… chipper?”

Lance laughed softly, “I can hold my booze, that’s how. Also, I’ve been up for… ummm… three and half hours already? Up with the sun, beach workout, swim, shower, breakfast… I even threw on a load of laundry. You- on the other hand, have jetlag kicking your ass, too.”

“Ugh- forgot about jet lag.” No wonder he was so wiped out! He wasn’t even sure what time it was. “Sorry for holding up your day.”

“Don’t worry about it, Shiro. Happens every time I have a guest. You’re up earlier than I expected. It’s all good. I’m going to go check the washing machine. You eat. I don’t have anything planned for the day other than just chilling out here. Take it easy.”

“That, I can definitely do it.”

It had taken a while, after the war, for him to get used to the idea of a day off. It was hard to remember how to just… slow down. Curtis had helped with that, at first. There was something about new relationships that made lazing around the house and doing nothing extra appealing. Then the newness had worn off and days off had gotten hard again. He woke at the crack of dawn, packed his day with activities, and barely took the time to eat. When he had to slow down, it made him jumpy, suspicious, and short-tempered. Eventually, he had to accept that it was his PTSD showing up in ways he hadn’t noticed before. He’d learned not to trust calm. He’d learned to see quiet as a reason to increase his vigilance.

He’d had to work hard to get past that. So hard, in fact, that it had been a big part in why he’d decided to retire from active duty. After all that pain and effort, he couldn’t put himself in a situation where that constant sense of waiting for the next bad thing to happen was part of his day to day life. He couldn’t risk backsliding into that paranoia and stress. So, he’d left- with the understanding that they’d start planning for a family. Plans that kept getting pushed back, and pushed back, and pushed back as issues cropped up for them to tackle. They’d tried. They had really, really tried… but eventually, it became obvious that the marriage wasn’t salvageable… and waiting any longer would mean that the friendship that had started them on the path that led to it wouldn’t be either.

He was better now. It had been ages since his PTSD was something he needed to navigate in day to day life. He slept well, woke when he was ready, and didn’t miss meals anymore. He worked from home doing consultant work, interviews, writing articles about his experiences… sometimes, he spoke at schools about his experiences. He helped run an online support group for people impacted by the occupation and the war. His life was very different from anything he’d ever pictured for himself, but it was full and for the first time, he would be genuinely happy if it stayed exactly the same. The low-level anxiety of his ambition, and the need to accomplish as much as he could _while he could_ was gone.

Sure, he was overdue for a vacation- but that was mainly because he liked his life and didn’t have any pressing need to take a break from it.

So, when Lance said to take it easy- he _did_. They just… hung out for the whole day. Lance filled him in on all his favorite things to do for fun, he picked a few that sounded interesting. They made lunch together- with Shiro sticking to washing and chopping vegetables. They played video games and Lance’s nephew Sylvio dropped over for a visit in the evening.

That had been… jarring. Over ten years since they’d returned to Earth and Shiro had met Sylvio for the first time. He’d been seven. Now he was the same age Lance had been when he’d come home from war without his first love. The McClains had a strong resemblance to one another, and there were times when he’d turn his head and for a second… instead of Sylvio talking about the championship game he’d led his team to victory in, he could swear it was the brash young Blue Paladin recounting the story of how he saved the people of Mer. The same mannerisms. Same long-limbed, narrow build. Same laugh, even.

When he’d arrived in Cuba, it had struck him how much Lance had filled out over the years. He’d grown into his height, losing a lot of that puppy-like sense of being mostly arms and legs and feet. His face had matured away from the almost daintiness of his fine-boned features- the jaw squared off a little, nose a little stronger, and so forth. The same kinds of changes he saw in Keith and Pidge as they left their adolescence behind them.

But he never had to see Keith or Pidge interact with someone who was so strikingly similar to how they had been in their youth. That direct comparison between Lance and Sylvio made a huge difference. It really drove home just how much Lance had grown up since they’d first arrived at the Castle Of Lions. The man that laughed at Sylvio’s stories, and offered the kid (very solid) advice for his dating woes, was so much calmer, the bravado replaced by a kind of playful confidence. The boy he’d been was still evident in his kind heart and quick smile and a million other little things, but Lance had grown-up into a solid, stable man and left that impulsive, prideful kid in his past.

“You’ve been quiet,” Lance observed, leaning on the railing of the deck and watching Sylvio’s dirtbike wind down the private road. He was headed home, not wanting to miss curfew. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “Sylvio’s a good kid. I haven’t seen him in years.”

“He’s a handful,” Lance laughed, “but yeah… good kid.”

“A lot like you were at that age.”

“Me?” He snorted, shaking his head, “you think so? I mean, clearly he’s got my dashing good looks and effortless charm… but beyond that, I’m not so sure.”

“I am,” he said, voice sure, “or at least, he’s a lot like how I remember you back in the early days of Voltron.”

Lance cringed, “I was a mess in the early days of Voltron! Scared to death, overcompensating for… pretty much everything. Flighty, antagonistic… ugh. I don’t know how you guys put up with me.”

“That’s not how I remember things at all,” Shiro argued, “scared, sure… we all were. But, you never hesitated to fight. You never shied away from admitting that you were homesick and overwhelmed- which takes a rare kind of courage. You struggled to find your place, but you never gave up on it, and you were always ready to help anyway that you could. And you were what? Sixteen?”

“Seventeen. I was seventeen when we found Blue,” he said quietly, watching Shiro out of the corner of his eyes, his expression hard to read.

“Seventeen, then. Just a kid, really. We all had crap we were dealing with back then, Lance. You did well. You found a way to cope with some really intense responsibility. You were a good kid- just like your nephew is now.”

“I guess… it’s weird to look back on all that now. Mainly I just try to focus on the… like… downtime, you know? Cleaning with Coran, all the weird meals, playing video games with Pidge… the training sims.” Tipping his head back, Lance looked up at the stars, a soft smile tugging at his lips, “milkshakes.”

“The Voltron Show,” he added, grinning.

“Oh man… The Voltron Show! Poor Hunk with all those fart jokes!”

“And Allura being called Keith? That was so odd!”

“Yeah- that did a real number on my head, I’ll have you know,” Lance laughed. “I was so gone on her, and so pissed at him and then having to call her by his name every night? Weird. It was so weird.”

“Weird is definitely the word for it! It took forever to get that glitter Coran kept throwing at me out of my hair. My pillow sparkled for ages.” He chuckled, then noticed that Lance had gone quiet, those blue eyes resting on him with a weight that was palpable. “What?”

“You… uh… you remember The Voltron Show… like, not just the stories and the footage… you actually remember doing The Voltron Show?”

“Oh,” his smile faded as he pressed his lips together and nodded, the motion moving his whole torso. “Yeah. I didn’t really… at first. It took… time and work, but yeah. Eventually, I remembered. I think I remember pretty much everything now.”

“Wow… I don’t know whether to say I’m glad for you, or sorry for you.” Leaving the railing, Lance settled into the chair across from Shiro’s.

“Bit of both works,” he tapped his fingers against the frame of his seat. “He wasn’t bad, you know… the clone. Like, for a long time, I thought of him as an evil version of me… but it wasn’t that simple. We were the same. Same memories, same morals, same person. He was just… being messed with in ways that made him lash out, or evaluate risks differently. He still loved you guys, still wanted to do good, all that. He was still me… those memories feel like they are mine.”

“Don't know what's more fulfilling than a paladin?” Lance asked, smirking a little.

“What?”

“Just something that stuck with me. First Monsters and Mana game, when Coran was pitching all the different character classes. That’s what… he? You?”

“Either works, Lance,” he shrugged, “I’ve come to terms with how strange it is.”

“You, then. That’s what you said to Coran. I remember it so well, just, this absolute confusion about why anyone would ever choose to be anything else if they could be a Paladin.”

As soon as Lance said that, the memory clicked into place, hazy, half-remembered details coming into focus. It had been a while since that had happened. “Coran fell over,” he added, “so dramatic.”

“Well… Coran, so yes,” laughed Lance. “He wouldn’t be Coran, otherwise.”

“Monsters and Mana was fun. It was a lot of fun.”

“Yeah, it was. I still play sometimes, with Coran. I can get him to set up a session while you are here if you want. Nothing major, just a little refresher.”

His smile brightened, “yeah. Do that. That sounds like a blast.”

“Perfect! Now- tomorrow is a busy day, and you are still trying to reset your internal clock, so we should probably call it a night. Want me to put on slow cooker oatmeal for breakfast?”

“You don’t have to go to any bother, Lance…”

“Shiro,” Lance clapped his hand on Shiro’s shoulder. Specifically, he grabbed the metal of his prosthetic interface, resulting in the familiar, but still surreal sensation of weight without a touch to explain it. He leaned in close, expression serious, and shook Shiro a little, “it is literally dumping like four things in the slow cooker and pressing a button. It could not be _less_ of a bother.”

“In that case, sure. That sounds delicious.”

* * *

Three days. It had been three days since Shiro had arrived and Lance was proud of himself. He hadn’t said or done anything monumentally stupid yet, which… okay, to be fair, they’d basically just hung out at Lance’s place and gossiped, which was awesome, but not exactly ‘high stakes’. Shiro was his friend, had been his friend for years. The low-level crush that lingered from his cringe-worthy ‘oh no, I’m straight, I just think he’s really cool’ days was something he was long-familiar with navigating. Just… not without a buffer of mutual friends or his family, or a specific task to accomplish, or for more than a few hours at a time. But, this was fine.

It was fine.

He could be a good host. A good friend. It was two weeks. Totally manageable. He always told his friends that they were welcome to visit anytime, and he meant it. Truly! Any of the people he cared about could show up on his doorstep, without notice, and stay indefinitely. Romelle had spent a month at his place once, with barely two hours notice of her arrival- because she had just… gotten pissed off at the stormy season on New Altea and decided to fuck off to Earth until either it was over, or the Coalition had someplace else she needed to be.

That whole visit had been bizarre in many ways, but it was a blast. She was such a great combination of wholesome, fierce, and chaotic.

Man, he loved Romelle sometimes!

They were on the way to one of the surprises he had planned. The road was narrow, but in good condition and it was a gorgeous day. Shiro was singing along to the radio, mumbling through the verses and butchering the Spanish on the chorus, but he had a good voice, and it was surprisingly cute, so Lance could forgive the terrible accent. It was nice to see him so relaxed for a change.

He must have made some kind of noise or expression that tipped Shiro off to his amusement and the reason for it, because he got poked in the shoulder. “You’d be just as bad if I put Japanese music on,” Shiro laughed.

“Probably… unless of course, what you put on is one of the theme songs to the like dozens of Japanese cartoons my niece has made me watch with her. I’m pretty confident that I can sing those fairly well. No idea _what_ I’d be singing, but I’ve learned them pretty well phonetically by now.”

“Your niece watches anime?” Shiro asked, chuckling.

“I will have you know that Nadia is a die hard fan,” he confirmed, “she’s sixteen and artistic. So much anime, so many sketches she refuses to show anyone, so much time spent on fanfiction… and arguing with people about ships on the internet.”

“So, she’s still drawing then?”

“Mmmhmm… more than ever. She’s really good. People even pay her now.” He knew that pride was just dripping from his voice, but he couldn’t help it. She was talented, and he was a proud Uncle. He was proud of all of them, but Nadia and Sylvio had a special place in his heart because the thought of getting back to them before they forgot him had been such a big motivator when he’d been galaxies away.

“Lance… where the hell are we going?” Shiro asked as they turned off onto an even narrower road. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. Pretty sure a good thirty percent of horror movies start this way.”

“Damn, you got me. I’m busted. Alright, if you must know- I’m bringing you to be the sacrifice at my secret Satanic cult. It’s just me, a bunch of nubile young coeds that adore me, and some demons I summoned. You’re dinner!” He turned his head away from the road long enough to flash Shiro a maniacal smile.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he said, shaking his head, “fine, don’t tell me.”

“Awww, don’t pout. You’ll love it, I promise.” He didn’t even have to look to know that Shiro rolled his eyes at him, but that was fine. That was kind of the goal. Light, friendly joking around was his comfort zone. This was where he lived when he was dealing with Shiro. It was familiar and normal.

The music got turned up a little and Shiro went back to scenery watching and singing along. It didn’t take very long to reach their destination and Lance turned into the little parking garage that was reserved for staff. “Alright, we’re here.”

“This is… a lovely parking garage?”

Lance laughed, “I know, right? Believe it or not, this isn’t the star of the show. C’mon…” He climbed out of the truck and grabbed the duffel he’d thrown together for the day. Pulling his staff lanyard out of the side pocket as they walked to the elevator, he tapped his pass against the reader. “I work here two days a week, and I do training one weekend every three months. It’s one of my many jobs.”

“I thought you worked on your family’s farm?”

“I do.” The elevator was old, and the light flickered a little but the ride itself was smooth and quick. “I’m on the farm most of the day on Sunday, Monday, Wednesday and Thursday. Then I help out at Marco and Rachel’s bar in the evenings on Wednesday and Saturday. Here on Tuesdays and Fridays, and then I pretty much fill the rest of my week at my Mima’s Dance School- teaching classes and dealing with paperwork.”

“Wow- I had no idea you were so busy!” Shiro leaned against the wall, metal fingers tapping on the little guard rail, idly.

“I’m not really suited to a regular nine-to-five kind of job. I like switching gears and challenging myself in different ways, so this works best for me.” There was a chime and the doors slid open, revealing a lobby with a large reception desk and a bank of windows that showcased the view on one side and overlooked a small airfield on the other side.

“This is…”

“Oh, c’mon, Shiro- you didn’t think I was going to give up flying completely forever, did you?”

“Well… yeah, actually. I mean, that’s what I did.”

“Mmm… I’m not completely sold that that’s going to be a permanent thing for you. If it is, that’s cool, of course. Just… I wouldn’t be surprised if you end up piloting again eventually.”

“Lance! You’re supposed to be on vacation! Awww, did you miss me?” Rosa, the receptionist, and an old friend of his, batted her eyes at him exaggeratedly, her hand fluttering over her chest. “I’m so touched!”

“I always miss you, beautiful,” he assured her with a wink. “But I’m actually booked in for a rental today. Taking a friend up for a tour. Shiro- this is Rosa Fern. Rosa, this is my old friend, Takashi Shirogane.”

“Call me Shiro,” he said, extending his floating hand to shake hers. Rosa, to her credit, didn’t miss a beat, shaking it readily, “it is a pleasure to meet you.”

“You, too. Lance! Why are all your friends so handsome? And where do you keep them all hidden!” She shoved at his shoulder playfully.

“Just lucky I guess,” he laughed, “and do you really think I’d spill on my best hiding spots? I have to carefully ration out the appearances of handsome friends- I don’t want to risk losing your affection, after all.”

“Aww hermosa, no one could ever replace you in my heart. You know that.” She pouted prettily, then handed him a clipboard, “sign out your baby. She’s all fueled up and waiting.”

“See? This is why I adore you, so, Rosa. You are the heart of this place, you know that, right?”

“The heart and soul… and the brains- the place would fall apart without me.” She laughed, “so, Shiro, is this your first visit to Cuba?”

“Uhh… no,” Shiro faltered. His confusion about the situation was clear on his face. “I’ve been here a few times, just never really for long enough to do much sight-seeing.”

“My family usually monopolizes him,” Lance explained, “he’s friends with Roni, too.”

“Ohhhh! You’re _that_ Takashi Shirogane! Well, it’s an honor to meet you. I should have known! I just… I kinda forget this goofball was a Paladin of Voltron most of the time. You understand, right? I mean… look at him… he doesn’t look like someone who used to save the world as a job. He looks like a tennis pro at one of the resorts.”

That made Shiro genuinely laugh, loud and boisterous. It was great to see, but he couldn’t really allow himself to be maligned like that. Handing back the clipboard, he defended his reputation. “Tennis pro?? Really?? At least make me a lifeguard, Rosa!”

“Tennis pro. I stand by my assessment.” Laughing, she filed the paperwork and waved them off.

He gestured for Shiro to follow and blew Rosa a kiss as he walked backwards toward the stairs that would bring him down to airfield. “You’re the best!”

“I know! Have a great day! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“That doesn’t rule out much!”

“Don’t die, McClain!”

“Yeah, that was _not_ fun, I’m not repeating that!”

“You’re so weird! It was nice to meet you Shiro! Don’t you die, either!”

“Uhhh… thanks? I’ll try not to?” Shiro smiled, but Lance saw him pale slightly.

Shit.

He rushed a little to get them through the heavy door that led to the stairwell, and waited for Shiro, letting the door swing shut. “You okay? Rosa and I… we joke about that shit all the time. She’s known me forever… I didn’t think, I’m sorry.”

“Lance, you didn’t do anything,” Shiro said, rubbing at his face. “It was just… unexpected, that’s all.”

“For the record… she doesn’t know about… Okay- when I was a kid, I was showing off at the beach and I got all turned around and was too far out and… uh… long story short… I drowned. Obviously, it worked out okay, but yeah- lifeguard hauled me out of the water, mouth to mouth, spent a night in the hospital getting observed, all of that. Rosa went to school with me, so… yeah. _That’s_ what she’s talking about.”

“You… drowned?” The shocky look was gone, replaced by concern.

“Yeah- I was nine. I barely remember it. Mostly, I just remember that my throat hurt like hell for a few days and I was nauseous from swallowing seawater so I was allowed to have as much jello and popsicles as I wanted. Shiro- really. I’m okay, I grew up by the ocean, the possibility of something like that happening is always kind of just… there. It didn’t like, ruin the ocean for me or anything and I didn’t have any long term damage. It was a long time ago, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay,” he smiled warmly. “Something we have in common, I guess.”

“That’s definitely one way to look at it.” Oh, that smile was… not good for his higher brain functions. Right. Time to get back to the actual plan for the day. “Soooo… welcome to Vuelos al Paraíso! Charter flights and tours for every budget! Tadaaaaa one of my many jobs!”

“You’re still a pilot,” Shiro grinned, heading down the stairs with Lance beside him, “still wrapping my head around that. I can’t believe your sister never said anything! I can’t believe _you_ haven’t!”

“Wellll… okay, full disclosure, Roni doesn’t know I actually _work_ here. I told her I need to keep my flight hours up so that I don’t lose my licence and have to give up being an on-call emergency pilot. I just… never gave her the details. It’s not a secret, just… I didn’t want her using it as proof that I should rejoin the Garrison, you know?”

“So, the surprise is a tour? Or that you are still flying?”

Lance opened the door to the outside, the sudden shift in brightness making him squint. Shiro’s hair positively shimmered in the sun and it was a little distracting, but he pushed through. “Bit of both… This is going to be fun, I promise.”

“If there is one thing I never doubt,” Shiro laughed, “it’s your ability to create fun, Lance. We all counted on it to keep us sane out there.”

“Excellent,” he replied before the words even sank in. When they did, he slowed slightly, “you… what?”

Shiro had gotten ahead of him, correctly deducing which plane they were headed to and jogging a little to check her out. “This is… what did Rosa call it? Your baby?”

“It? Oh, come on, Shiro, you know better than that! _She_ is, indeed, my precious baby.” He caught up easily enough, reaching up to pat the side of the small plane. “This is Leona. I fixed her up myself… uhh… with help from my brother Luis, and Hunk, of course. Technically, she’s owned by the company, but she’s _mine_ , aren’t you girl? You heard that, right? Her agreeing?”

“Uh-huh,” Shiro smirked at him, “loud and clear. She’s pre-occupation, right? I love the old Earth planes!”

Lance relaxed a little, there had been part of him ready to defend the older vehicle, but this was the kind of plane he’d grown up wanting to fly. It was nice to see that Shiro still appreciated them, too. “Here,” he handed over the datapad, “you do the exterior checklist and I’ll just sign off on it. I trust your eyes. I’ll go get everything set up in the cockpit. Deal?”

“Yeah,” eyes bright, Shiro took the datapad, skimming the list. “On it.”

It was a pretty standard safety check, and Shiro had been doing them for longer than Lance had. It wasn’t the first time he’d trusted Shiro to keep him safe and it wouldn’t be the last. He triggered the door and pulled down the boarding steps, climbing into the plane to get ready for their flight.

* * *

The first time he’d ever flown with Lance at the helm had been the day they’d found the Blue Lion. None of them had been at their best that day, least of all him, but the way that flying had lit Lance up was a memory that had never faded.

That joy had dimmed quite a bit by the time they’d flown back to Earth with Blue empty and quiet in the hangar of the Atlas. The Lions had mourned Allura along with the Paladins, even without the connection to Black, Shiro had felt it echo through Atlas to him. Her loss had been hardest on Lance, of course, but it had shaken all of them.

When Lance had decided to stay on the farm, Shiro had been supportive, but had worried it was a mistake. Clearly, it hadn’t been. There was something about Cuba that healed Lance, and that was getting more and more obvious the more time Shiro spent with him.

He honestly thought that the war with the Galra and its costs had soured Lance on ever flying again… but, as he sat beside him in the cockpit, it was obvious that he’d been wrong about that.

Lance was lit up again- much more literally than that first time. The blue marks on his face were glowing softly, but there was also a light to his eyes that Shiro had thought had been left in the past.

Once they’d finished take-off, Lance had started chatting about Rosa. Nothing of any real consequence, really. Mainly he was just decoding the encounter Shiro had witnessed and giving him a bit of a snapshot of their friendship. He learned that Rosa and Lance had been friends and neighbors since toddlerhood, that he’d once broken a boy’s nose for spreading ‘mean lies’ about her, and that she had dated Veronica for a full year when they were still in school. It had been Rosa’s idea for Lance to join the staff. The company had been struggling and she had argued that the publicity of having a former Paladin of Voltron as a pilot would help her parents hang on to the family business.

It didn’t surprise him in the slightest that Lance had started flying again as a way to help a friend. It was perfectly Lance. Exactly the kind of thing he would do for someone he cared about. Shiro had no idea how he’d reacted those first few times piloting again, but _now_ he was relaxed, happy, and competent at the helm.

“It was weird,” Lance said, seemingly out of nowhere.

“What?”

“Flying again.” He smiled, the expression easy and indulgent. “Flying something that wasn’t Blue, or Red. It was weird. Not bad. Just… weird.”

“I didn’t-”

“I know you well enough to see that question in your face, Shiro,” he cut in, rolling his eyes a little. “Besides, it’s the obvious question, right? So… the answer is, it was weird. I’d never really flown anything like this. The Lions… that give and take is so much a part of _how_ you fly… not to mention the whole alien controls, thing. This is… it’s different enough that it takes some getting used to, but also… it doesn’t feel like I’m replacing Red, you know?”

“Yeah- I think I know what you mean.” Before he’d retired, he’d flown a couple of ships that weren’t the Atlas, and it was more than a little disconcerting.

“There was always a part of me that wondered if… maybe Iverson was right. Maybe I was a shit pilot and my Lions were just… filling in the gaps, you know? Like, what if I was relying on feedback from them more than you guys did or something. Leona, here? It is alllll me, and I like that. I get top marks whenever I get recertified. So, now I know. He was wrong. I’m good at this. It’s not just my teenage ego saying that, I see actual proof every time I do a tour. Every time I take part in a search and rescue. Every time there’s a malfunction, and I deal with it. I’m a damn good pilot.”

“All the Paladins are excellent pilots, Lance. The Lions wouldn’t accept anything less. You know that.”

“Mmm… you underestimate the power of my youthful brain to undermine my confidence in the wee hours of the night,” Lance laughed, “it was hard always being in Keith’s shadow, first at the Garrison, then in Voltron. I grew out of it eventually, thank God. I just… look I know the guy is a hero and dripping with accolades, but Iverson’s teaching style was hard on me. It happens. I’m past it.”

“It was hard on Adam, too,” he said after a moment. “He used to get so stressed out whenever it was simulation day, because he knew Iverson would rip him apart for every tiny mistake. He did a lot better once he passed Iverson’s class and ended up with Faulkner. It’s a shame you didn’t get the chance to move out of that class. You’d probably have been top of the class the next year. Totally different teaching style, a lot more emphasis on thinking on your feet rather than memorizing flight procedures. Adam kicked my ass in Faulkner’s class!”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” accused Lance, “Takashi Shirogane, Garrison darling, breaking records left and right? Getting his ass kicked in a _flight_ class? Sweet of you to fall on your sword for my pride and all, but I don’t need it. I’m well past being shaken by a teacher I didn’t like as a teenager, Shiro. I’ve helped save all realities! Multiple times! My ego is fine now.”

“It’s true though,” he laughed, “and I was not gracious about it. Adam and I used to fight so much back then. It was almost like we had… a rivalry!”

“You didn’t seriously just say that to me,” he gasped, letting go of the controls to cross his arms over his chest and shake his head. “Sorry dude, I’m not flying your ass anywhere after that.”

He was far too familiar with Lance’s antics to worry, so he just laughed, “no, it’s true. We were constantly trying to outdo each other. Even hacked the security once to face off in the sims after hours.”

“You hacked the security at the Garrison to get into a pissing match with your boyfriend!? Seriously!?”

“Okay, first of all- you all seem to think I was some kind of goody-two-shoes as a student and I absolutely was _not_ , and second of all, he wasn’t my boyfriend then. I was dating a townie, and Adam was… umm… also very much not a goody-two-shoes and I will leave it at that to protect his reputation.” He shook his head, he hadn’t thought about this stuff in ages, “the boyfriends thing came later… once I got over my bruised pride at coming second in the class.”

“Awww… poor you, second best marks in a single course!”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that I needed a _tutor_ for advanced chem!”

Lance snickered, returning to the controls to adjust their bearing slightly. The smile on his face told Shiro that he was absolutely making an effort _not_ to make some kind of crack.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No seriously, what?”

“It’s nothing, Shiro. Just a dumb joke that I know better than to make. Cuz, it is a dumbass Lance joke… that I have outgrown. Because I am not a seventeen year old loudmouth with no verbal filter anymore.”

“Well, now I’m even more curious.”

“Good for you.”

“You’re seriously not going to tell me?”

“See? This is why you got the top marks, Shiro. You’re smart.”

“Oh, fuck off, McClain,” he grumbled.

Lance actually giggled at that, which was somehow infuriating. “Alright, time for your surprise. Close your eyes for a minute, trust me, it’ll be worth it!”

He glared at Lance for a second, then took a deep breath, let it out on an exasperated sigh, and closed his eyes. He felt the plane bank hard to the left, his stomach doing a little flip as they turned. There was a slight wobble as they hit an air pocket and then the plane levelled out again, smooth as silk.

“You can open them now,” Lance said quietly.

Shiro did, and his breath caught in his throat. It was… gorgeous!

“That, my friend, is the bird’s eye view of Varadero Beach. Also known as the most beautiful place in the universe… at least to me.”

“Wow!” He leaned closer to the window without even really meaning to. “The water…”

“Right? I’ve seen a lot of beautiful scenery in my travels, but nothing beats Cuba. Nothing.”

Shiro had never seen water that color. From the air like this, it seemed to glow, like it was lit up from below somehow. The beach was incredible, too- the sand white and gleaming. “No wonder you were so homesick!”

“Cuba’s part of me. I don’t know how else to explain it. I don’t know how my sister doesn’t feel it pulling her home the way I used to, but she doesn’t. It’s a me thing, I guess…” He sounded faraway, dreamy almost, “I’ve brought some of the others to the airfield. Showed them around, introduced them to everyone… but I wanted you to see it. Properly. I thought… I dunno… maybe it’s because you’re from an island, too. I thought you’d _get_ it. You know?”

“I do… I get it… this place is… amazing, Lance. You’re right to love it so much.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying for _years_ ,” he quipped, “and this is just the start of the tour. Get ready to get to see Cuba through my eyes, Shiro!”

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur, until they were on their way back. Clearing his throat, Lance shifted awkwardly, “soooo… here’s the thing… I know you’ve let your license lapse, so legally, and officially, I cannot offer you the chance to fly this plane.” He stretched, leaning back in the seat, “you understand, right? That I’m _legally barred_ from offering to give control of this aircraft to someone who doesn’t have a current pilot’s license? There’s no way I can flip this toggle to reroute command to the copilot’s seat.”

He grinned and nodded, “I completely understand, Lance. I would never ask you to do that, never expect you to offer.”

Lance smirked back and stood, leaving the pilot’s chair empty. Without even realizing he’d started to move, Shiro found himself settling into the seat, hands wrapping loosely around the controls. Nerves hit him, and he got those almost forgotten butterflies in his gut. Lance nodded encouragingly at him and he gave an experimental twist to the controls.

The plane wobbled a little and then veered to the right. Lance let out that howl of his, the one Shiro was most used to hearing over the coms in Voltron. Blue eyes sparkling with mischief, Lance pointed out various controls and mouthed instructions and guidelines to him, not wanting the radio to pick up what he might be saying.

The rush of flying again was… incredible. Lance was right, this plane was nothing like the Lions, and it wasn’t all that much like the few Garrison vehicles he’d flown before his retirement. It was all on him. He bit his lip to stop a giddy chuckle from escaping and Lance buried his face in his hands, shaking his head at him.

Shiro hadn’t felt this alive in _years_. It wasn’t the Atlas. It wasn’t Black. It wasn’t even a Garrison issue, space-worthy craft. It was a civilian plane, meant to stay within breathable atmosphere. It didn’t go as fast, or have controls that were as fine-tuned as he was accustomed to.

Honestly, it was more like the hoverbikes he drove for fun than anything he’d piloted before… which wasn’t a complaint.

It was…

Exhilarating

He didn’t fly it for long, didn’t bring it in for the landing, but by the time they touched down back at the airfield, Shiro was well and truly in love with Cuba… and remembered what he’d loved so much about flying in the first place.

* * *

“So,” Lance said, clearing the dinner dishes, “I managed to get all my classes at the school covered… and then one of my subs got injured, so I need to go in to teach the classes she was going to cover for me. The school is close… like… a ten minute drive… and then with warm-ups and teaching… cleaning up after and getting back… uhhh…” He counted off on his fingers, “I should be like… two hours? Maybe three if I walk in to be greeted with some kind of crisis?”

“Are you expecting a crisis?” Shiro asked, trying to puzzle out what kind of crisis there could be at a dance school. Chicken Pox outbreak in tiny tots tap lessons? Streaks on the mirrors in the classrooms? A love triangle between the parents of the students?

“Expecting one? No. Always ready for one? Yes, definitely.” He took the last plate from Shiro and started up the dishwasher. “So, you have a choice. You are more than welcome to hang out here- you’ve got the full run of the house, fridge is stocked, tv subtitles are set to English.”

“Or?” He wasn’t really in the mood to hang out in Lance’s house by himself. As much as he liked the place, it felt weirdly empty without Lance around.

“Orrr… one of two other options. I can drop you off at Marra Macs and meet you there afterwards, or you can come hang out at the school while I’m teaching.”

“Alright, I have a question- how bad is the matchmaking going to be if I hang out at Marco and Rachel’s bar while you are teaching?” Lance’s family were notorious romantics who tried to pair everyone off, whether they wanted to be or not. Sometimes it worked, Keith and Ryan were a prime example of that. Shiro wasn’t averse to dating, but… matchmaking McClains weren’t something he wanted to be dealing with while on vacation.

“Honestly, it’s going to be intense, man,” Lance’s expression was deathly serious. “It’s not even Rache you gotta worry about! Marco is going to be sending every guy who even once questioned their sexuality to your table with drinks. It’s like… his messed up idea of what being an ally means.”

“Dance school it is!” He said cheerfully, “my phone is fully charged and I’ve got a back-up battery and a new game to beat. I’ll be fine.”

“Perfect. I’ll be ready to leave in ten, and I cannot be late… which is honestly the worst thing about teaching. So, anything you need to do before then, do it. I’ve gotta get my gear.”

Getting out the door was pretty much seamless at this point. It hadn’t taken long for he and Lance to fall back into the old effortless ability to move around in a shared space without getting in each other’s way. The talked about nothing and sang along to the radio as they drove. This close to the equator, the days were longer than Shiro was used to. The sky had only just barely started to change color when Lance pulled into the parking lot.

Whatever Shiro had been expecting, it was _not_ this. It was an old building, typical of Cuban architecture in many ways, with its ground level archways, colorful wrought iron grates on the many, many windows, and bright blue facade. It was much larger than he’d expected though and the brightly lit sign out front indicated a much more professional operation than what he’d been thinking ‘Lance’s grandmother’s dance school’ would be.

He followed Lance into the building, and was once again surprised. The interior of the school was bright and polished, modern touches added everywhere he looked. There were computers and datapads all along one wall, many of them showing screens filled with video thumbnails. A large monitor displayed the schedule, the writing switching between three or four languages, one every few minutes. Classes that were due to start soon were flashing red and the legend in the corner told him that this meant that the students were expected to be warming up already.

He’d never actually been inside a dance school before, but even so it was clear that this was not a small-time hobby for an old lady who dabbled in teaching little kids that wanted to learn ballet for an hour on Saturday mornings. A large trophy case stood between the stairs and the elevator, crammed with plaques and ribbons, trophies, and other paraphernalia. He very nearly got bowled over by a crowd of teenage girls in buns and leotards racing up the stairs.

No sooner had he recovered from that, then the elevator chimed. He stepped back just in time, because once the doors opened about half of the occupants spotted his friend and the lobby erupted into a chorus of “Señor Lance!” and Lance got positively _swarmed_ by toddlers wearing the cutest little dance outfits he’d ever seen.

Laughing, Lance crouched down and chatted amiably with the small children. There was no way that Shiro’s Spanish was anywhere close to good enough to keep up with anything Lance was saying, and he wasn’t going to even try to decipher toddler Spanish. Nope.

The parents of the toddlers milled around, waiting for the unexpected visit to wrap up. Most of them were chatting with each other, but a couple were watching the interaction with an expression that made it clear that their focus was definitely not on the kids. He had to smile, because… Lance seemed to be completely oblivious, which was so at odds with the young man who never ever missed an opportunity to flirt.

“You look a little lost,” one of the waiting adults said to him in heavily accented English.

“Me? Oh, no… I’m fine. Just, waiting while my friend has class.” He nodded to Lance as explanation.

“Ah, okay. The kids love Lance. They get so excited when he covers for their classes.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me. Lance is great with kids.”

“I’m Ada,” she said, “the little one with pigtails is my daughter, Pilar. She’s decided she’s going to marry Señor Lance someday. I don’t have the heart to tell her that he’s older than her father.”

“Oh… well… I can see why you’d want to avoid telling her that,” he laughed. That couldn’t be right though, could it? That kid was… three or four, he guessed. Even if Lance was just a year older than her father, basic math said that he would have been… umm… twenty-three when the child was born.

Twenty-three?

No…

That’s…

That was… a _completely normal_ age to start a family! He had to have messed that up somehow.

Distracted by his mental math, he barely remembered to return the introduction, “I’m Shiro. I’m visiting from the states for a bit.”

Twenty-three, plus four, was twenty-seven. Right. And Lance was… _holy shit_. Lance was almost thirty. Lance… _Lance_ was older now than Shiro had been when he’d taken command of the Atlas. He was older than Adam had ever been. He was older than Curtis was when they’d gotten _married_!

“Oh, that’s nice! You and Lance must be close,” she replied, smiling at him.

He nodded, “mmhmm… been friends for years. We... uh… used to work together. He was one of my groomsmen.”

Just… logically, he’d always known how old Lance was. He’d been to the birthday parties, for fuck’s sake. He knew the number. It just… hadn’t connected to anything else. With Lance living his life in Cuba, and everyone else busy with their own projects, some part of Shiro’s brain had kind of _frozen_ them in time. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

“How sweet! Congratulations on the wedding!”

“Mm? Oh. Oh… thank-you, but… it was… I mean… I’m not…”

“Mami?” The little girl tugged at Ada’s hand, then launched into an excited recounting of her interaction with Señor Lance.

“Oh… I’m sorry… I need to… Hush nena, por favor!” Ada laughed lifting Pilar into her arms, “I should get her home. I hope you have a lovely visit!” The little girl didn’t even wait for his reply before she started chattering excitedly, so he just waved at Ada as they headed out the door.

“Sorry, I got a little caught up,” Lance said once the kids were all dragged away by their parents.

“It’s fine,” he answered, smirking, “I got to know your future mother-in-law a little bit. She’s lovely.”

“What?!?” His cheeks colored as he realized what Shiro was talking about, “ohhh Pilar! Bless her heart, she’s so sweet!”

“She seemed it,” he agreed easily. “So, where do I hang out while you are busy?”

“Right- the lobby is kind of nuts. So, I’m going to let you chill out in the office. Follow me!” Lance led him through a kind of general office, with a coffee machine and filing cabinets. There was a grid on the wall that looked to serve some sort of mail function, and rows of what looked like sign-up sheets in clipboards that hung from hooks in the wall. Several other doors branched off from it, and Lance unlocked the last of them. He flicked on the lights and a bank of monitors blinked into life. “Alright, here you go.” One by one, the monitors loaded up a video feed of dance classrooms, some of them empty, others with a single dancer, still others with classes in progress or warming up. “The chair is super comfy, but the room can get a little chilly, so there’s a mohair throw in the bottom drawer if you need it. You saw the coffee machine, there’s a vending machine in the lobby, but it only serves water and tubes of yogurt. There is a remote for the tv in the top left-hand drawer, but this tv is crap and only one channel works, and there’s no English… so… good luck with that if you decide to try it. There is wifi, though. Password is silfide. S-i-l-f-i-d-e, all lower case.”

“Silfide?”

“Yeah, the school’s name? Silfides de Sorreno? No?- alright, I guess that’s an obscure one- it’s Spanish for slyph… you know? The little fairy things? Like… umm…” His fingers fluttered like little wings as he struggled to find the word. “Air elementals!”

“Pretty.” He tapped the password into his phone and waited until it connected. “I think I can fend for myself for a couple of hours, Lance. Go get ready to teach your class.”

“I’ll check in before I do my cool down,” Lance promised, glancing at the time and giving him a little wave before ducking back out of the office.

Shiro settled in, pulling up his game and preparing to kill the battery on his phone. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been playing when he got a text notification. Keith.

**Spitfire: Haven’t heard from you. Having fun in Cuba, or do I need to help you hide a body?**

He snorted, he wasn’t sure why neither Keith or Lance liked to admit that they were actually good friends, but he was used to the way they pretended to hate each other.

**T.S.: This trip was ur idea. Did u forget that?**

The reply was lightning fast, Keith must be bored.

**Spitfire: Are you trying to blame me for you killing Lance?**

**T.S.: Trip is going well. Lance is a good host.**

**Spitfire: Glad to hear it. What are you guys doing?**

**T.S.: Going 2 Marra Macs l8r**

**Spitfire: Marra Macs is fun. A+ bar**

**T.S.: well now I’m worried**

**Spitfire: Fuck off. Went w/Ry & the MFEs for a birthday thing. Had fun**

**T.S.: Awww u call him Ry?**

**Spitfire: Why am I your friend?**

**T.S.: I didn’t press charges**

**T.S.: Also- hoverbikes**

**Spitfire: right… knew it wasn’t your personality**

Shiro snickered, Keith had grown up a lot over the years and he was prouder of him than he was of anyone else. So proud of the guy. But he was still a little shit.

**T.S.: where are u now?**

**Spitfire: Classified civvie**

**T.S.: say hi to ur mother & Kolivan for me**

**Spitfire: done. Really though-good vacation?**

**T.S.: yes. Mostly just chilling at the beach house so far**

**Spitfire: Surprised he isn’t dragging you all over Cuba**

**T.S.: 1 plane tour & the bar 2night otherwise staying home**

**Spitfire: Plane tour? Cheeeesy tourist shit!**

**T.S.: <\---tourist**

He chewed at his lip, he really shouldn’t mention that Lance was the pilot, right? Keith was with Ryan, and Ryan was good friends with Veronica, who Lance has specifically _not_ told about flying for Vuelos al Paraíso… but Lance had said he’d brought the others out to the airfield, and Rosa had mentioned other friends so…

**T.S.: I met Rosa & Leona**

**Spitfire: Leave it to Lance to name his plane Lioness**

**T.S.: she wasn’t about 2 name herself**

**Spitfire: you’re not funny**

**T.S.: yes I am**

**Spitfire: Tell Lance I said to cuff you for that**

**T.S.: Lance is teaching right now so ur SOL**

**Spitfire: they offer classes in being annoying now? Who knew?**

**T.S.: dance. He’s teaching a dance class**

**Spitfire: bahahahaha pics or it didn’t happen!**

**T.S.: he got mobbed by a dozen very tiny ballerinas. It was cute. Kids love him.**

**Spitfire: kids love clowns, too. Kids are idiots.**

* * *

Class went well. Not that he was really expecting anything else. The more advanced classes usually did. These were people who took dance seriously and showed up ready to work. As much as he loved kids, which was a lot, Lance genuinely preferred teaching the smaller classes for serious students. He was always ready and willing to cover for the big, loud children’s classes, but he’d long ago figured out that it was not a good fit for him as a regular thing.

It was fun to watch little kids discover dance… but it was magic to watch truly talented people work their asses off to create art. And it was an honor he took seriously to get to help hone those talents. It was hard work- by the end of the class, he felt like he’d faced off against a robeast- but it was incredibly rewarding.

He was the only one in his generation that still taught at the school. Rache and Marco helped with the paperwork and the website. Luis was always ready and willing to help set up for performances. His Dad did handyman work around the place. A couple of his cousin’s kids were teaching intro classes, but they were still students themselves and taught as a way to reduce their registration costs.

Officially, his Mima still ran the place, but the reality was that she was old and as much as he wished otherwise, she’d started to become frail. She couldn’t teach anymore, had a hard time keeping up with the technology changes, and often got confused by the complexities of the paperwork. Every semester, Lance shouldered more of the responsibility, and he was discovering that he really enjoyed it.

For a while, it had looked like the family was going to have to sell the school or shut it down, but now they’d all kind of come to the unspoken understanding that Lance would take it over when Mima decided to step back from it completely. He was in no rush, but there was no denying how much he loved this school. It was the one thing in his life that felt like it was completely untouched by the war. Dance had been a big part of his childhood, before the Garrison… and then he had stepped away from it completely until after he’d moved back home and had recovered enough to start feeling stir-crazy at the farm.

He felt safe here, inside these familiar walls, walking these well-worn floors. Safe in a way he didn’t feel anywhere else.

“Good class tonight,” Benito, one of his students, called out as he finished clearing away the rigging for his workspace.

“Yeah,” Lance agreed, stowing the mats, “you are so close to nailing that scorpion pose drop! You almost had it tonight.”

“Next time,” he laughed, “but I knew I wasn’t going to catch it as soon as I started the transition. That was a first!”

“I know it doesn’t seem like it, but that’s important progress. You should check the sign-up sheets, book some extra workshop time. I don’t want you losing momentum when you are this close. Just make sure that you’ve got a spotter that matches this level available during the slot.”

“Yeah… Yeah! I think I can afford the drop-in fee. So, that’s you, Maria, or…?”

“Juan-Carlos,” he answered, “still trying to hire a fourth, sorry.”

He waved him off, “don’t worry about it. I can work with three options, my schedule is pretty flexible. I’ll check the sheets- next week is probably a write off, though, huh?”

“Yeah, probably. I’m just in for this class and the Thursday intermediates next week, so there are fewer slots open with spotters.” With the last mat out of the way, Lance was getting impatient to cool down and clean-up. He held the door for Benito, and they started down the stairs together. “I’m headed to the office… I’ll grab those sheets for you.”

“Thanks! So, I had an idea for my routine… I was thinking, if I can nail it… how does, iron cross, inverted splits, fish-hook into a corset series, then ending with the scorpion pose drop sound?”

“That sounds… very ambitious.” He ran through the maneuvers in his head, “you should consider adding some simpler transition pieces. Too many complicated set-ups in a row means sacrificing some grace. Give it a couple of run throughs without the ending drop and see how it feels. Get some feedback on how it looks. Don’t get too far ahead of yourself!”

“I should dial it back, huh? I just… I love all those tricks, you know?”

“I didn’t say dial it back,” Lance chuckled, “I said try it out and get feedback, and be prepared to make changes. Fundamentals are important, but it’s still _your_ routine!”

“Okay… okay…” Benito nodded and Lance could see the wheels turning in his head as he re-evaluated his routine. He wasn’t the most talented student Lance had ever had, but he was strong and worked his ass off, and that was often a better recipe for success than raw talent alone.

Once they entered the office, Lance gave the schedule a once over and checked the sign-up sheets. “Yeah- next week is blocked… there are a couple of cancellation slots with Maria, though, you should slap your name in there. The following week is still pretty open, too.” He handed Benito the clipboard, “I’ve gotta check on my guest. I’ll see you in class Thursday, right?”

“I’ll be there,” the young man assured him distractedly, tapping the pen against the clipboard.

He rapped on the office door twice before poking head in. “Class is done, I just need to cool down and shower- you need anything?”

Shiro looked up for his phone and blinked at him owlishly, like he was distracted. “Umm… no. Nope. I’m good. Just… chatting with Keith.”

“Yeah? Tell him my mother has been saving up soup bones for Kosmo again, so he’s overdue for a visit.”

“Will do.”

While he typed, Lance let his gaze skim over the monitors on the walls. Each one showed a classroom, most of which had a session in progress. He liked to check before he did his cooldown in case he needed to jump in with a helping hand. Everything seemed to be in order until he spotted Maria facing off against one of their star pupils. He groaned, still debating whether he should intervene when he saw Maria spin on her heel and march out of the room.

“Everything okay?” Shiro asked when Lance thunked his head against the door.

“Mmhmm… just… not looking forward to what’s about to happen. Nothing to do with you.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“I really, really doubt it. Remember how I said I was always ready to deal with a crisis? I’m about to deal with a crisis… that shouldn’t be a crisis, but… yeah…”

“Lance!”

Well, that was quick. How did she get downstairs so fast? Taking a deep breath, he held up one finger to Shiro and turned. “Oh, hi Maria!”

“I’m so glad you are here! Are you still limbered up?”

That didn’t bode well, at all. “Yes? But… I have company and my-”

“I need your help addressing something with Peter!”

Damn. He fought the urge to sag against the doorframe. “What did he do?”

“Why are you assuming it is me that did anything?” Peter demanded before he was even all the way in the room, “she’s impossible!”

Well, this was fun. Just the thing he loved most- student and staff barking at him in the office. In front of Shiro, no less! Funtimes. The visit had been going so well up until his best talent decided to make him look like he couldn’t do his job. Annnd… it was only going to get worse, because there were three people in that room.

“You guys understand that I _pay_ for this extra training time, right?” Ahh… there she was.

“Don’t worry, Annette, I won’t charge you for the time you are down here in the office. Can I find out what’s happening before we go any further?” They all started to speak at once, in two different languages, “ah-bip-bip-bip-bip! One at a time and in English, so Peter can understand everyone. Annette- you first.”

“They both seem to be forgetting that _I_ am the one with the audition looming!” Annette snarled, “wasting precious time arguing.”

“Alright. Noted. Maria?”

“Peter is refusing to do the routine that was choreographed specifically for them.”

“It’s impossible!” Peter cut in, “have you _seen_ it? It might work for her- she’s tiny! I’m not. There is no way I can do those moves safely!”

“The audition routine?” he confirmed. Eyes flashing, angrily, Peter nodded.

Annette threw her arms wide in exasperation, “it doesn’t seem impossible to me!”

“Because it is not!” Maria insisted, yanking him out of the doorway to stand beside her. “Lance can do it!”

“What? No. I can’t help a student audition, Maria, you know that.” Quietly, Shiro slipped out of the office and moved off to one side, clearly trying not to interrupt.

She sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes. “Not the audition, the _routine_!”

“Him?!?!” Peter scoffed, arms crossing over his chest in a huff. The kid was bursting with talent and a bad attitude and at least once in every interaction, he reminded Lance of a very young, pain in the ass, Keith. Never before had he crossed into directly insulting Lance, though- and you know what? Even now, that stung. The arrogant little shit had never even seen him dance! “No way! He’s what? Forty?”

 _”Forty!?!?”_ Beside him, he heard Shiro snort so he made a rude gesture at his friend that he really hoped no children witnessed. “Ohhhh no! Here’s the deal- if I go in there and prove that I can do the ‘impossible’ routine, you are going to apologize. Understood?”

“Not going to happen,” the kid argued, “I’m telling you- it’s impossible. There’s no way someone my height can hit the poses and marks that she’s expecting! So… sure! If you can do it, I’ll apologize- but if you put yourself in the hospital, they are apologizing to me.”

“I’m not going to put myself in the hospital,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Go on up, I’ll be right behind you.”

“Is this the kind of thing you were talking about when you mentioned being prepared for a crisis?” Shiro asked after the others had headed back upstairs, grinning at him.

“More or less, yeah,” he sighed, “that kid… I swear to… Hey- actually. I wouldn’t mind picking your brain about how to get him to be less… _that_. You mind just, like, hanging out in the room with us while I deal with…” He gestured vaguely in the direction of the door. “He’s so talented but… arrgh… and if memory serves, you’ve got some experience wrangling annoying teenagers into being productive.”

“Well, he’s certainly _familiar_ , so…” Shiro laughed, shrugging, “sure. I’ll give it a shot. Lead the way.”

* * *

He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Lance taught dance classes at a bustling, successful dance school. His memories of seeing Lance on a dancefloor never really gave any sign of an unusual degree of training or talent. Something he pointed out to Lance as they climbed the stairs together.

“Excuse you, I’m an excellent dancer,” Lance had countered, “and _excellent_ dancers match the skill level of the people that they are dancing with. I’m so talented that I can make it _look_ like I suck.”

He laughed, “uh-huh… when I told you that Curtis and I were doing a choreographed routine for the reception, do you remember what you suggested?”

“I do. I suggested that I teach everyone a routine. I was thinking of a beginner’s version of the tango routine that took gold for Cuban Nationals the year before.” Lance smirked over his shoulder, “but you guys decided to go with a local dance place and a simple Viennese waltz. Which, for the record, was very lovely and… you know… wedding-y.”

His mouth snapped shut as that little bit of information worked its way through his brain. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked just as they were hitting the top floor.

Lance just shrugged, “dude, it was _your wedding_. I made an offer, you chose to do something else. I’m not going to pout about the decisions you and Curtis made for you wedding! That’s way too personal a thing for me to get my panties in a bunch over. Besides, like I said, what you guys went with was lovely. Despite my reputation of being an attention hog, I don’t actually need to be in the spotlight all the time.”

“I know that much,” he protested as Maria stepped between them and herded him to a seat.

“You sit here. Do not make noise or be distracting,” she said sternly, “do you understand?”

He glanced at Lance over the small woman’s shoulder and Lance just laughingly shrugged at him and mouthed something he suspected was supposed to be ‘think Pidge’, because that was very much the kind of energy this woman had. Tiny, almost birdlike, but with that wiry frame that so many dancers had, and a force of personality that was eerily similar to the former Green Paladin’s.

She snapped her fingers at him.

“Yes. Of course,” he answered. Geez! Lance actually turned away, his shoulders shaking with poorly disguised laughter as he shed the nylon workout pants and jacket he’d been wearing to reveal… umm… tights. Or, well… probably some kind of leotard or something? It was a two piece thing, in grey and black and skin tight. It reminded him of the compression leggings Shiro wore to the gym, but with an attached long-sleeved top. That was called a leotard, he was pretty sure.

Regardless, it was… very tight… and left very little to the imagination.

And… it was _Lance_ so it was more than a little distracting that his own imagination seemed to be jumping at the chance to fill in those few missing details.

Maria rolled her shoulders and shook out her arms. “You two,” she barked at the students, “you will watch and you will learn. I do not have to tell you how challenging this routine is, so behave accordingly. Ready Lance?”

“Yeah,” he answered, slapping a small bag between his hands a couple of times before tossing it to her. She did the same thing, then tossed it to Peter with a curt nod. The young girl… whose name was escaping Shiro, hit a button on a remote and slow, melancholy piano music started.

In unison, Lance and Maria began walking. Despite their height difference and the fact that they started from separate points, within a few beats they were side by side, feet falling in perfect time to the notes. By the time the singing started, they had moved beyond the bare floor and onto a section that was covered in what looked to be gymnastic mats.

Maria moved ahead of Lance, his arm lifting toward her, every line of his body radiating a kind of yearning that echoed with Shiro. Together, they both leaned forward, Lance’s fingertips barely brushing the ends of her hair before she curled out of his reach, her posture conveying heartbreak. Her shoulders shook to the beat like sobs and she spun, falling into Lance’s arms.

He caught her effortlessly, lifting her above him. Slowly, with a level of control that surprised Shiro, she slid down Lance’s chest until their foreheads pressed together. They swayed from side to side, faces close, each using small, intimate gestures with one free hand to portray what was obviously a deeply passionate connection.

Shiro was so captivated by the small motions of their upper bodies, that when Maria suddenly wrenched away from Lance, he gasped in surprise- she was standing on Lance’s thighs, one of his hands splayed over the small of her back as she fell away from him in slow motion, her back curling gracefully until her fingers brushed the floor.

He enjoyed dancing, in the limited amount that he’d experienced it at formal functions and clubs. He even enjoyed seeing the ballet, or watching the occasional episode of dance competition shows on television- but most of his exposure to dance as an art form had been through to coalition where he’d frequently seen dance performances by alien cultures. Never had he been so immediately sucked into the _story_ of a dance.

Maria flattened her hands on the floor and flipped away from Lance. They covered a little more ground, her spinning and twirling always just beyond his reach but with a reluctance that was palpable and that built until, once again, she was racing back into his arms.

It quickly became obvious that the dance was designed to showcase the female partner, but Shiro knew enough about how the human body moved and balanced to know that Lance’s part in this dance was much harder than it seemed. He was both dancer and… scaffolding, almost. Maria launched into high, graceful leaps using Lance as a springboard. She scaled his tall frame, coiling around his legs, curling up against his chest, clinging to his back, and even hanging from his arm. Through it all, he was stable and unmoved. The overall effect was that she was almost weightless.

It was mesmerizing. The chemistry between them (which was virtually non-existent before the music started) was riveting. Every trailing touch, every tiny inclination of their heads, their hands, it all broadcast emotions that were powerful and raw. Pain and longing and conflict was etched into every beautiful movement.

She spun out of Lance’s arms, moving behind him and he twisted to reach after her. Without moving his feet, he bent backwards, the curve of his torso levelling out as he arched lower and lower. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, Shiro would have thought it was impossible to lower oneself to the floor like that in such a controlled, graceful way. He’d seen it done in martial arts and in action movie fight scenes- fast and lethal-looking way to dodge a kick or flying debris. Lance did it so gradually that it felt like time slowed down, and without the slightest hitch or jerk in the movement. Vaguely, Shiro registered a soft gasp from the kid, Peter, who was also watching… so he took that to mean that even other dancers were impressed by that.

Maria jerked like she’d reached the end of a tether, arms and one leg flying forward as her shoulders thrust backward and continuing the theme of time dragging at the most painful moments, she seemed to be jerked backward by that invisible tether in slow motion. Her arms arms swung high, sending her tumbling backwards toward Lance until she was lying atop him. They rolled together and pulled apart, rising to their feet like they were trying to break free of one another’s orbit.

No sooner had their fingertips cleared one another than she was racing at him. He caught her mid-leap ad hoisted her above his head with _one hand_. She kicked slowly, as if she was trying to swim through the air to reach him. He held her rock steady, even as he moved across the floor in lazy spins, every muscle standing out in perfect definition as he worked to make it seem effortless.

He was amazing.

More than that- Shiro didn’t think he’d ever seen anything as beautiful as Lance was at that moment.

Oh.

_Oh no!_

Fighting the seeds of panic that were taking root in his gut, Shiro turned his attention to the phone in his hand and he glanced down to see a message from Keith.

**Spitfire: You went quiet. Everything ok?**

**T.S.: this was a mistake**  
**T.S.: big mistake**

**Spitfire:???**

**T.S.: iuhjkmnbhgytfcg**

**Spitfire: did you just… keysmash??**

He’d been vaguely aware that Lance was attractive ever since the day he’d shaken his hand in that desert shack of Keith’s. His head had been pretty scrambled still, but he’d registered that he was cute about ten seconds before he registered that he was Keith’s age and that ‘cute’ had turned into ‘cute kid’... and over the years Shiro had not been blind to the fact that the ‘cute kid’ had morphed into ‘handsome guy’, but it was always kind of… cerebral.

This was not _cerebral_!

Lance wasn’t a kid anymore. This trip had proved that to him over and over again already… and the implications of that were sinking in. There was no avoiding the reality of it after seeing… just… all of… _that!_

**T.S.: watching a dance thing**

**Spitfire: the class Lance is teaching? So, was it a real keysmash, or a mistake**

**T.S.: this whole thing was a mistake**

**Spitfire: Why? Is he terrible? OMG- he is isn’t he! Send proof!**

**T.S.: not terrible. He’s good. Really good.**

It wasn’t easy to text with one eye on the dancers, but he was managing… because despite his best efforts, he couldn’t _actually_ tear his eyes away from Lance.

**Spitfire: well that’s disappointing**  
**Spitfire: why a mistake then?**

Maria was standing on his shoulders and reaching up, as if to grab something… and that was the first time Shiro noticed the two loops of dark rope that hung from the rafters above the dancers. She coiled her hands in the ropes and twisted herself until she reminded Shiro of the little ballerina dolls in music boxes. Easily, as if she weighed nothing, Lance grasped one of her feet and kind of _threw_ her, sending her sailing through the air in a graceful arc.

**T.S.: Fuck… that was hot**

**Spitfire: WHAT?!?! What was hot??**

He blinked at the screen. Shit. He hadn’t meant to send that.

Keith was never going to let him live that down.

**T.S.: there’s rope**  
**T.S.: 4 the dance- not just random rope**

**Spitfire: I think that still counts as ‘random rope’, bud**  
**Spitfire: also not sure I want you to answer anymore…**

**T.S.: no I meant the routine uses rope- like in the Voltron Show**  
**T.S.: Lance just launched his partner. She’s like… flying… with the rope**

**Spitfire: and the flying chick is hot?**  
**Spitfire: are you having a het awakening?**

**T.S.: oh fuck off**  
**T.S.: I know what ur doing**

**Spitfire: Ohhhh I get it…**  
**Spitfire: You think LANCE is hot!**

**T.S.: this is objectively hot**  
**T.S.: u’d think so 2!**

**Spitfire: dream on- Lance is sooo not my type!**

He scowled at the phone, because Keith _didn’t understand_! Lance was using the ropes now, climbing hand over hand like it was nothing and then standing in the loops and… jesus! Shiro’s jaw nearly dropped as Lance twisted and flipped over, legs spreading out into something close to a split and creating a kind of harness to hold him securely as he hung upside down. He barely managed to stifle a very inappropriate noise, and had to shift in the seat because…

Listen.

It wasn’t his fault that Lance had somehow honed himself into a living version of Michaelanglo’s David since he’d settled into life in Cuba!!

Keith didn’t know what Shiro was _seeing_ right now!

Because those tights?? They should be outlawed! The way they clung and seemed to highlight every little line and dip and _goddamn_ those legs were… unreal… and his arms were… and the way that rope wrapped around his waist really showed off his…

Yup.

He’d totally just been checking out Lance’s _ass_. That was… not something he’d planned for his vacation… but… like… it was a really, really great _ass_.

Maria did another of those running jumps and Lance caught her one-handed. She climbed his arm, wrapping her whole body around it as they spun and swung in a huge figure eight over the mats… and for the first time in his adult life, Shiro wished he was Pidge’s height, because he kind of wanted to do the same thing to that arm.

Somehow, Lance lifted his arm to his chest, turning Maria upside-down as well without so much as a hitch in his movement or the slightest slip in her positioning. The figure-eight began to lose inertia, slowly shrinking. Cradled snugly against his chest now, Maria ran her hands over Lance’s arms, his back, his face, into his hair and finally linking her fingers behind his head.

They held that pose for a beat and then Lance’s hold on her changed. Slowly, she unfolded. Her legs kicked up and out and he supported her as she folded over backwards. The control it had to take to hold her so steadily astounded Shiro. He could _see_ the way the muscles of Lance’s whole body worked to adjust for the shifting forces caused by the way they swung and her changing center of gravity. The trust that took! How many times had Lance held her, thrown her, caught her that she could be so very unshakable in her faith that he _had her_?

**Spitfire: why am I not surprised that you are ignoring me now?**  
**Spitfire: Don’t like me pointing out that Lance is EXACTLY your type, huh?**

You know what? Fuck Keith pretending this was a _Shiro_ thing when it was absolutely without a doubt a _Lance_ thing! Smirking smugly, Shiro adjusted the angle of his phone and hit record. Once Keith saw this with his own eyes he’d understand!

Within _seconds_ he was glad he’d started recording, because as Maria peeled away from Lance like some kind of blooming flower, he pulled his arms away- leaving her hanging by her grip on the back of his head!

He was so stunned by that that the next bit of the dance all kind of blurred together for him. He was vaguely aware that the way Lance was able to catch and toss Maria into pose after pose as they swung and spun was impressive, but his eyes had kind of locked onto the way the muscles of his back bunched and shifted as he did so and… _dammmmmn..._

As she hung from his chest, Lance curled upward. Maria coiled in on herself as he grabbed the ropes and brought himself upright in the loops. They still crossed over the small of his back, each length running up one leg and held in place by the opposite arm and Lance began to pump his legs to gain momentum like a little kid at a playground. As the ropes were set swinging, Maria rearranged herself again until she was standing on Lance’s feet, pressed against him in an embrace that seemed just… so heartwrenchingly doomed somehow.

He curled down and she craned up until they could press their foreheads together and, without warning, they spun apart. Each was standing in their own loop of rope, their legs thrust outwards to transform those tight outward spins into a wide, looping arc. They reached toward each other with one arm in the center as the centrifugal force pulled them further and further apart and then gradually brought them back together again.

Once their fingers touched, the dance transformed again. It truly looked like that were flying together- they shifted effortlessly within that loop of rope, catching each other and spinning together with hands, ankles, or knees linked only to break apart and spiral outwards again.

It made his heart ache. The dance was obviously a love story, and a sad, melancholy one at that… but it made Shiro miss space.

More specifically, it made him miss what he _thought_ going to space would be like. There was something about the movements that reminded him of being weightless, maneuvering through open space with small bursts from the booster built into the Paladin armor. That realisation led to another… Lance had to have helped make this routine! He was so confident in his ability to do it, because he’d been part of crafting it.

It was the most beautiful thing Shiro had seen in multiple galaxies- and it had come from Lance.

His phone buzzed in his hand and he glanced down. His video had hit the record limit and autosent. Keith was replying.

**Spitfire: very pretty dance thing not seeing the ‘hot’ though**  
**Spitfire: Just looks like Lance to me**  
**Spitfire: like I said though- he’s your type not mine**

**T.S.: I don’t have a type!**

He could tell from the music that the song was wrapping up. Lance and Maria were curled around each other, their faces tucked into each other’s throats, and stretched out in a way that reminded him of figure skaters as they twisted in tight circles. As he watched, Maria kind of _sank_ out of Lance’s arms, hanging from the rope by her knee and dropping free of it in that split second where the rope was still because of its reversing direction. She landed in a roll to absorb the inertia and sprang to her feet to dance alone.

He knew she was meant to be the focal point, but he couldn’t help but watch Lance. His face was the very image of heartbreak- an expression Shiro had seen on his face far too often, but not for a very long time. As Maria danced, Lance built up momentum in the rope, sending it into wider and wider arcs.

He sailed around the dancefloor above Maria’s head a few times as she did… whatever it was she was doing. Shiro was too mesmerized by how gorgeous Lance looked standing in that loop of rope, one arm stretched out toward her and making him look like he belonged on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel or something- the divine craning down from the heavens to touch humanity.

Lance spotted him watching and _winked_ at him a split second before he did… something... and dropped. For an instant, Shiro thought he’d fallen… but then his hand had caught securely in the loop of the rope and Shiro’s jaw literally dropped… because... somehow, the force of the fall had been channeled, redirected so that instead of snapping his wrist, Lance was flying.

He was _flying_!

The arm holding the rope was bent, reaching back over his shoulder, and his head and chest were leading the motion. He was almost perfectly parallel to the floor from the knees down, but the rest of his body angled up and forward. His face tipped up to the ceiling slightly, showcasing the line of that jaw and the cords of muscle in his throat.

Toes pointed to a degree that seemed impossible, his one free arm stretching toward Maria- he formed a graceful line from fingertips to toes. Each rotation had him straining to reach her a little more until he turned just enough to send him spinning in the rope again. He whipped around like a top, that long, nearly horizontal line morphing into a reeling pirouette so tight and fast that he seemed to blur.

Gradually, those wide arcs narrowed, the twirling slowed and his feet lit on the ground, smoothly transitioning to a completely different kind of spin as he released the rope and made use of all that momentum to propel him across the mat around Maria.

They ended up on opposite sides of the dance floor, once again stepping in unison to the dying beats of the music. On the last, aching note, they both stopped, turning to face each other across the room and reaching out to one another but not making any move to close the distance. The song ended as they dropped their hands and the room fell completely silent for several heartbeats.

The applause startled him- somehow he’d forgotten that there was anyone else in the room! He had to set his phone in his lap so he could join in on the clapping and whistling.

Annette paused in her clapping long enough to smack Peter’s shoulder, “she told you it wasn’t impossible!”

“Fine,” Peter glowered, “it’s not impossible!”

“That didn’t sound much like an apology to me,” Maria scolded playfully, the words a little shaky as she caught her breath from the routine.

“Seriously?!?!” Peter’s gaze flickered back and forth between them.

“Yes, seriously,” Lance said, mopping his face with a towel, “Maria and Annette deserve a proper apology. Your attitude wasted their time and slowed down their work. That matters.”

“Ugh,” Peter rolled his eyes and then shook himself out like he was about to start a sparring match instead of utter a few words. “Annette, I was not a great partner and I’m sorry for messing with your training time. Señora Maria… I’m sorry for not trusting your ability to choreograph a workable routine.”

“Thanks Peter,” Annette said, pulling him into a hug.

“Yes, thank-you,” Maria agreed, “but I didn’t choreograph that by myself and you aren’t done with the apologies.”

Oh, Shiro knew that look! He could watch Peter war with himself in every line of his face, every tiny movement of his body. “Fine,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “Señor Lance- I’m sorry for my attitude about this.”

“Thanks, Peter,” Lance said easily, “I appreciate the apology… and listen, you are one of the most talented kids to come through this school. If I can do that routine at _not quite thirty_ you can do it at your prime. Got it?”

He sighed, “yeah… got it.”

“Alright, good. Now, I really need to cool down and get out of here. My siblings are going to wonder why I’m so late.” He stretched, reaching down to grab the discarded nylon workout clothes he’d been wearing on top of the dancewear and pull them on, “have a good night guys.”

They waved and Shiro followed Lance out of the classroom.

“So,” Lance said after a moment, “thoughts?”

Shiro felt his face heat and was very glad that he was a couple of steps behind Lance on the stairs. “Umm... I don’t know much about dance but… that was amazing. Nothing like what I was expecting when you said you taught dance!”

Lance laughed, “well, thanks- but I was actually talking about Peter!”

“Oh! Right,” he laughed at himself, “I didn’t really see much of him being difficult. You seemed to have a good handle on things in the little bit I did see.”

Lance sighed, “I guess so. He just… he reminds me so much of Keith sometimes and… as you know… I don’t have the best track record with Keith at that age.”

“Keith?!?! He reminds you of _Keith_?” Shiro stared at the back of Lance’s head for several heartbeats, “ohhh no! He’s not like Keith! _Why_ on Earth would you compare them??”

Lance stopped, stepping to one side so Shiro could catch up, “because he’s infuriating, and incredibly talented, and just… _such_ a pain in the ass! Like Keith.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at him, “nope. Keith’s talented, and had attitude issues- but not like that. First of all, Keith would have broken his neck doing a routine that _other_ people claimed was impossible before he’d ever complain that it couldn’t be done! The easiest way to get Keith to do anything at that age was to suggest that it couldn’t be done. Less than five seconds later, he’d be out there killing himself to prove you wrong. The attitude is different, too- Keith was angry at the world, trying to keep everyone away. Peter… that’s not the vibe I get from him. He wants to prove himself, worries about not being as good as he thinks he is. That’s not Keith.”

“But you said his whole… thing… was familiar!”

“Because it is! Just not from Keith. I’ve worked with a lot of people over the years, Lance. What you’ve got on your hands is a kid who seems to be pretty much equal parts James Griffin… and _you_. That’s why he bugs you so much- you’re seeing your least favorite traits reflected back at you.”

“He’s nothing like me!” Lance argued, “Griffin… maybe. Not as much as a brown-noser, but… the goading, yeah- I can see that.”

“He doesn’t speak Spanish?” Shiro asked instead of bickering.

“No- I recruited him to the school from the States. He lived in this tiny town that didn’t offer any real options for a serious dancer and we’ve got a good reputation. He’s boarding with a local family.”

“Right- so we’ve got a talented kid who uproots his whole life to chase a dream, and ends up living in a completely different culture, different language, under a ton of pressure… and after being a big fish in a little pond, all of a sudden he’s surrounded by people who are just as good as him, just as talented…” He arched a brow at Lance waiting for him to make the connection, “not really sure where he fits now and everyone else already seems to have their _thing_ already figured out?”

“Quiznak,” Lance breathed, tension draining out of his frame, “okay. Yeah. I see it.”

“So, I think you are probably uniquely qualified to get through to him… and if it helps, both you and Griffin grew out of being pain in the ass teenagers. So did I. So did Keith. Pidge… not so much, but the odds are in your favor that Peter will, too.”

“Ugh… alright, alright… Thanks for the insight.” Lance scrubbed at his face and then pushed a hand through his hair, “for the record, I liked when you were comparing me to Sylvio better! I’ve gotta go cool down and clean up- you cool to get back to the office without me?” He pointed at the door that branched off of the landing.

“Yeah,” Shiro answered, nodding, “yeah, sure! Hey- thanks for bringing me here. It isn’t what I expected at all, but it’s kinda cool to see you working with the kids.”

“Everyone always thinks I teach toddlers or something,” Lance laughed, turning away, “they never seem to expect that I do audition prep like that or my regular classes. I don’t know why they are all so surprised that I teach aerials and pole dancing- seems like that would be kind of obvious, to me.”

Pole dancing. Lance taught _pole dancing_. Of fucking _course_ he did. Shiro wasn’t sure why he expected anything else after that whole… display… with the ropes.

Jesus Christ, this whole visit took a really damn weird turn out of nowhere.

He rubbed at the back of his neck, and headed back to the office, smiling and nodding at the few stragglers he passed on the stairs and in the lobby. It wasn’t until he dropped back into the chair he’d vacated when Lance had gotten pulled into the situation with Maria and the kids that he realised he had messages waiting for him.

**Spitfire: you are shitting me, right? Tall, dark skin, fine hair, light eyes, long limbed, wiry, outgoing, kind, noble, likes kids… Describes every guy you’ve ever been serious about- and Lance**  
**Spitfire: hello?**  
**Spitfire: ???**  
**Spitfire: Shiro?**  
**Spitfire: fine, ignore me- but you know I’m right**

He glared at the phone, cycling through more emotions than he wanted to contemplate, for several minutes before he answered.

**T.S.: You’re not fucking helping Keith!**

\----------

Lance was glad his siblings weren’t expecting him to help out at the bar tonight. Not that he wasn’t willing to if they needed it- just, he was later than he told them to expect him and it was a relief to know he wasn’t leaving them in the lurch.

The drive from the school to the bar had been a little awkward, but nothing terrible. That always seemed to happen when one of his friends saw the school. For some reason seeing him as… like… a capable teacher and pseudo-businessperson threw people for a loop.

He got it. It didn’t really fit with their memories of him as Lance-the-Goofball, or Paladin-Lance. It was fine. Another day or so and things would settle back to normal… especially with the help of a night at the twins’ bar!

Man, he loved this place. A fact he shared with Shiro as he led him through the staff entrance. Taking full advantage of the fact that he was family, he stowed their shit in the office.

“Sounds busy,” Shiro observed, starting to relax.

“Live music tonight,” he explained. “Which means mostly locals, not a lot of tourists. Ummm… has anyone in my family other than me ever heard you sing?”

“Me? Uhh… no? I can’t think of when they would have, why?”

“Oh, because they are McClains, and you have a decent voice, so they might pull you up there. Rachel’s bad like that. She made Keith sing, once.”

“Keith?” He looked so shocked, it was adorable. “Keith sang?”

“From what I hear, yeah. I wasn’t around that night so I missed it. Heard he did pretty well, too.” He waved for Shiro to follow him.

“He must have been pretty drunk,” Shiro laughed.

“Rumor has it, yeah. Just… if she does, I apologize in advance. But, I’m the baby- none of them listen to me with this shit. Nothing I can do.” He held his arms out in a gesture of helplessness, then backed through the swinging door that brought them into the bar.

The building had only been Marra Macs for a few years, but before that it had already been a family favorite for nights out. Rachel and Marco both worked there and bought the place from the old owner when they retired. They hadn’t wanted to mess with something that worked, so the transition was pretty simple. One name change and a few minor modifications later and Marra Macs came into being.

“This place… seems familiar,” Shiro said, looking around as Lance led him to his favorite table- in the back near the pool tables and dart boards with easy access to the dance floor and a good view of the stage.

“You’ve been here before,” he explained, “way, way back.” Shiro had checked in with him frequently in the first couple of years after he’d moved back in with his family. “Luis and Lisa’s anniversary party. It was called Cantina back then.”

“Lannnnce!” Marco pulled him into a headlock and Lance reacted without thinking. He snapped up to his full height, grabbing Marco’s far arm and pinning it before changing his footing and pivoting out of the hold. “Damn, you are so fast with that shit! Our little badass.”

“Yeah… saved my ass a few times out there,” he answered with a shrug. This was like a script with his brother. All of his siblings had taken different approaches with how to deal with him when he returned. Marco’s had fallen firmly in the ‘you’re my baby brother, nothing’s changed’ camp- which to him meant that he still treated Lance to the same casual rough-housing they’d grown up with. The first year had been… touchy… but they’d figured it out. Now instead of getting spooked that he might scare his brother with his reflexes, Lance knew that he’d just get a casual compliment and a reminder that he would always, always, always be the baby.

“Shiro,” Marco greeted, grabbing Shiro’s hand for a firm handshake, which turned into one of Shiro’s one-armed frat-boy hugs. “Good to have you here! Been too long. Welcome to Marra Macs! Drinks are on the house.”

“Marco! No, I can’t accept-”

“Shush- you keep him alive in space, you drink for free. Bar policy. We don’t accept money from Paladins,” Marco’s voice was cheerful, but there was an edge that Shiro apparently did not hear.

“I’m not a Paladin anymore! And I didn’t do anything for Lance that he didn’t do for me! He saved my life more than once-”

“Ah bip bip bip! Don’t make me call in reinforcements! You drink free.” He slung his arm around Shrio’s shoulder, “hey! Elena!”

His girlfriend glanced over from where she was tending bar. It never ceased to amaze Lance how no matter how packed the place was, the staff seemed to be able to interact like the place was empty. “This one’s a McClain for the night, yeah?”

Lance could see her roll her eyes and laugh at him, but she flashed a thumbs up before turning back to her customers. “You don’t want to argue with Elena, man… trust me here.”

“You’re just sore about the ear thing,” Marco laughed.

“Hey! We agreed not to mention that!”

“What ear thing? Did she call them hideous? Because that wouldn’t be the first time he’s heard that…”

“Oh, don’t you start, Shiro the Hero,” he muttered.

“I didn’t agree to shit,” Marco countered. “Loverboy here decided to lay on the charm with Elena’s little sister and my ‘lena didn’t like that- grabbed him by the ear like a sticky fingered kid and marched him right back to his seat.”

“That sounds about right,” Shiro replied, grinning at him.

“I was just being friendly!” he insisted, “not my fault you made her think I was some kind of skeez with your dumb ‘when Lance was a kid’ stories!”

“Mmmhmm… sure. What are you guys drinking? The usual, runt?”

“I’m taller than you, Marco.” He knew it was pointless to mention it even before he formed the words… but there was something about family that created these… patterns… and they were as comforting as they were annoying, so he didn’t really do much to try and buck them. Sure enough, Marco waved him off with a bit of a snort.

“Shiro? Any preference?”

“Whatever Lance is drinking is fine,” Shiro answered, finally taking a seat at the table.

“You got it. I’ll tell the staff to keep’em coming. I gotta get back to work… have fun tonight! Rae’s probably gonna pop by the table later to say hi.” He pulled Lance into a proper hug and patted Shiro on the shoulder as he left.

“Well, he never changes,” Shiro chuckled, “seriously though, I can pay for my drinks.”

“Yeah, so can I- but he never lets me. Just accept it, dude. The bar’s doing well, he’s just going to write off whatever we drink as spillage anyway.”

“You’re sure? I mean, you are already putting me up and feeding me and driving me-”

“Shiro, you’re my guest. That’s what I do for guests. You’d do the same for me if I was crashing with you. You don’t tally up expenses when Keith is staying with you, do you?”

“Well, no but-”

“No buts. We’re a welcoming bunch. Just accept it, man. It’s not going to change.” He locked eyes with Shiro for a moment, challenging him to argue. There was a flash in his eyes that told Lance that he was sorely tempted to, but he ultimately decided to relent with a little nod and Lance smiled at him. “So, your choice- pool, darts, or what?”

“Pool,” Shiro replied, eyes glinting.

“Uh-huh- I know that look. Just remember, buddy- I am wise to how that floating arm works and I am fully aware that you are ambidextrous, so there will be none of your pool shark misdirects tonight. You’re shooting lefty.”

“Aww,” he pouted. Lance nearly did a doubletake, because this wasn’t Shiro’s usual, normal pout. It was… different somehow. He couldn’t quite put his finger on how, and the expression melted into a familiar smile so fast that he could almost believe he’d been seeing things. “Fine. I’m still going to kick your ass though.”

“I mean, you can _try_ ,” he countered, laughing. Elena arrived with their drinks and Lance introduced them. She apologized for Marco (apparently out of habit- which was cute) but when Shiro tried to pay for his drink she laughed at him, and Lance could see her shoulders and head shaking in mirthful disbelief the whole way back to the bar.

“What did I tell you about that?” He scolded, pushing one of the four glasses toward Shiro. “No one is going to let you pay for shit. Stop trying.”

“Alright, alright… sooo…” He eyed the pale amber liquid in the glass suspiciously, “what is this? Not gonna lie, I figured we’d be drinking rum and cokes. That’s what you used to drink.”

“This is Cuban Ginger, house specialty. It’s good- you’ll like it. Fair warning though, it’s stronger than you think. Apple liquor, good rum, ginger ale.” He looked so wary that Lance laughed, “oh my God, drink it! It’s not nunville! You’ll like it, I promise.”

“I’m more concerned with the ‘stronger than you think’ comment,” Shiro laughed, relaxing. “I’ve already had one hangover this trip.”

“So? You’re on vacation. Let loose a little. Promise I won’t make fun of you for being a lightweight.”

People (rightly) called him competitive, but Lance was in good company. Almost all of his friends were as bad as he was. The Paladins were competitive as fuck. Shiro liked to pretend he wasn’t- but nobody set that many records that young without being viciously competitive. Sure enough, as soon as he registered the word ‘lightweight’, his eyes narrowed and he grabbed the drink, taking a big swig.

“Ah-ha! There we go,” Lance crowed, clapping his hands, “that’s how you start off a fun night out! Good, right?”

“That,” Shiro said, grinning, “is _dangerously_ delicious!”

Even playing left-handed, which kept him from being able to use the floating arm to achieve otherwise impossible angles of approach, Shiro kicked his ass at pool three out of the five games they played. Lance didn’t mind- he’d won two and at least one of the games he’d lost had been close enough to be a bit of a nail-biter at the end.

He’d won the darts games, though- which soothed his pride and let him make sharpshooter jokes until Shiro threatened to concede the game to shut him up. He lost count of the number of drinks they went through. Enough to have a pleasant buzz, but not enough to get sloppy.

By about an hour before last call, he was pretty much ready to declare the night a success. They’d played pool, played darts, danced, listened to the band… sat through embarrassing stories from both his siblings about Lance’s childhood. They’d even danced with each other… sort of.

Lance had taught Shiro a dance craze that was currently popular with the locals. It had involved almost as much laughing as dancing, but after a few songs he’d eventually gotten the hang of it.

They’d even managed to avoid Rachel pulling either of them up onto the stage to sing with her- which Lance thought was something close to a miracle, because Rachel was every bit as hard to say no to as Veronica was.

So, he was ready to pat himself on the back for a successful night of playing host when he exited the bathroom and ran into the very last person he wanted to deal with.

“Lance, it’s been a long time,” one arm shot out, hand resting against the wall to block his path, “you’re looking as handsome as ever.”

“Thank-you, Bastian,” he replied, fighting the urge to be nasty. Even through the haze of who knows how many Cuban Gingers he knew not to offend or piss off the health inspector. The twins worked their asses off for this place, and Bastian was just the kind of asshole who’d punish Rachel and Marco for Lance’s actions. He’d never forgive himself if they suffered because he’d been an idiot. “You’re… looking good, too. Happy. Married life seems to suit you.”

“You haven’t replied to my texts,” the handsome man said, leaning closer. He dipped his head giving Lance a practiced pout as he leaned closer and rested his free hand on Lance’s shoulder. “Not in weeks.”

“You know how busy I am,” he dodged. “Things have been crazy lately.”

“I’m sure you must have an hour free for an _old friend_ ,” Bastian coaxed, his voice like spiked honey, “especially one that is moving away soon.”

“You’re moving?” He asked, feigning innocence. He’d heard about that, of course- his family was too large and too immersed in the community for him not to hear all the gossip. Bastian’s brand new wife wasn’t from here and they were relocating to somewhere in Europe to be closer to her family and he already had some kind of prestigious job waiting for him. “When do you leave?”

“Three weeks… maybe I could come hang out with my childhood friend some evening before we go? Have a few beers and reminisce about the old days?”

Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. Bastian had, indeed, been one of his best friends as a kid, but they’d grown up to have very different views on the world… and once Lance had seen that, any affection or respect he had for the guy had evaporated.

“Three weeks? Oh no! I’ve got a visitor staying with me,” he replied, pouting dramatically. “You know how it is.” He felt slimy. Every fiber of his being wanted to rip into this guy for being an immoral sleazeball… but he couldn’t do that to his brother and sister.

Three weeks. He could dodge the guy for three weeks… and then he wouldn’t be a health inspector anymore and if he pulled this shit again, Lance could indulge his temper.

“Then maybe we could connect here in town… sometime when your guest is _occupied_ ,” Bastian coaxed. The guy was fucking persistent, that was for sure. “Unless… of course…” he trailed off, one eyebrow arching speculatively, “I mean, I know what a hopeless romantic you are…”

“Ummm?” It took him a second to make the connection. He blamed the booze, because Bastian was far from subtle and who knew how long he’d been at the bar? How much of Lance’s evening he’d seen? “Oh. Oh! Well… uhh…”

“He really is, isn’t he?” Shiro said, materializing beside Lance out of thin fucking air somehow. He stepped behind him, one strong arm dropping casually over his shoulder and dislodging Bastian’s grip, and his floating forearm settling over Lance’s belly, tugging him back against Shiro’s larger frame. “It’s one of my favorite things about him. Hey babe... you gonna introduce me to your friend?”

‘Babe’? _’Babe’?!?!_ What the **fuck** was happening right now? Just how drunk _was_ Shiro?!?!

“Whuh?”

“I’m Shiro,” he said, barrelling over Lance’s confusion like he was some kind of eager puppy who couldn’t wait to meet new people. “Sorry for interrupting, it’s just… I got a text from Ulaz, you remember Ulaz, right? Nyma’s husband? She had the baby- they’re naming him Lubos. I thought you’d want to know.”

Ulaz? Nyma? Lubos!? Ohhhh… Even with his buzz, Lance was able to pick up on Shiro’s code. Ulaz helped Shiro escape a bad situation. Nyma faked an interest in him for her own purposes. Lubos was a skeeze who betrayed people who trusted him. Somehow, Shiro had figured out that Lance was in a bad spot and stepped in to help. Now he just needed to let him know that he understood.

“Oh wow! That’s great! I haven’t seen them since The Voltron Show!” Acting. Like when they did the Voltron Show.

He leaned back, relaxing into Shiro’s hold… and if the fond smile on his face wasn’t _all_ acting, that was fine. He was allowed to enjoy himself and you know what? It probably made the whole thing more believable anyway. “Shiro, this is Bastian. We grew up together. He and his new wife are moving soon and I was just saying that it’s too bad that I’m so swamped for the next three weeks.”

“Awww yeah, that _is_ bad timing,” Shiro commisserated, nuzzling his throat… and really, that was _above and beyond_ but Lance wasn’t in any state to complain. Especially not since Shiro hadn’t shaved a single time since he’d gotten to Cuba and after nearly a week of growth, that stubble felt _really good_. “M’not gonna apologize for monopolizing you though. You understand, right, Bastian?”

Bastian’s eyes skimmed over Lance’s face. Assessing. He’d always been a little suspicious- probably because it turned out that he was a two-faced, treacherous jackass and so he figured everyone else was, too. Shady people were like that. Lance had been through too many missions that required presenting a very specific tone and message through his body language and expressions to mess this up, though. He let himself go just a little boneless against Shiro, like it was completely fucking normal for them to be all cuddled up and cozy with Shiro’s breath tickling his throat. Then, for extra effect, he let himself tap into that lingering ghost of the _thing_ he’d had for Shiro a few years back.

Memories of that dawning awareness that he’d shifted somehow from becoming better friends with his former teammate as he worked through his grief for Allura to the familiar butterflies and that little sizzle of anticipation of his visits and calls that signalled genuine _interest_ floated through his mind. He could feel how his smile changed- nose and eyes crinkling with the slight urge to giggle. He doubted that Bastian could see the increase in his boozey flush in the low, flickering light, but he felt the heat in his cheeks and ears all the same.

His relationship with Shiro was _complicated_ , alright?

He’d been one of his childhood heroes, then his role model, teammate, friend… then they’d lost… so much together. Mourned together. Reforging and deepening a friendship on completely new footing- peers and no longer coworkers, having to find wholly different ways to interact and relate to each other. Childish hero worship had turned into genuine admiration and affection in space. A starry-eyed crush had cropped up and died down. Camaraderie and the bond of shared grief had deepened that connection, putting them on equal footing. There was a kind of intimacy that came from going through stuff like that together- one that he didn’t have with the other Paladins, no matter how close they were. Shiro had loved Adam; Lance had loved Allura. Zarkon’s war had claimed them both. Too young.

Far too young.

He’d been just starting to realize that the idea of ever dating again didn’t seem impossible and repulsive anymore, just starting to clue in that his heart gave a little jump when his phone buzzed in his pocket because it might be _Shiro_ texting when his friend had asked him his opinion of Curtis and it had been blindingly obvious just how _smitten_ Shiro was. Whatever little spark of interest he’d had faded out and he’d been the supportive and encouraging friend- and it had been _sincere_ dammit.

He wanted Shiro to be happy. The guy deserved it more than anyone else he’d ever known.

But… Lance wasn’t blind, and he wasn’t an idiot. He was very well aware of just how attractive Shiro was.

It was beyond easy to just… let himself react to that for a few moments to help sell this little facade Shiro had created to help him out. Beyond easy to just… pretend for a few minutes that the warm metal thumb stroking at his hip and the lips brushing against the little hollow under the hinge of his jaw were an expression of genuine interest. That the tingles of sensation that chased the heat of that big, chiselled body pressed against him weren’t one-sided.

Just… for a minute.

Just… to make it convincing.

He could do that.

It would be fine.

Bastian was laughing, head shaking. Lance cocked his head to one side, triggering a very distracting nuzzle from Shiro. Why? What was happening that was funny? Did he see through the lie?

“Wow- you two are off in your own little world,” Bastian said, finally stepping back. Ah. Okay, that made sense. He was a lying, cheating jerk, but he _hated_ competition for his attention. His tragically fragile ego dictated that he be the one stringing people along, not putting himself in a position where someone else might get chosen over him. “I should head out. Say hi to the family for me.”

“Will do,” he answered, giving him a small nod.

“We should go dance,” Shiro rumbled in his ear… making him have to remind himself that this was _pretend_.

“We should?” Bastian seemed to be heading for the exit… but then, Lance knew how fast gossip spread… and how Bastian always seemed to have the scoop on everyone.

“Mmmhmm… let’s go dance. Don’t let him ruin a fun night.” Shiro’s hand dragged across Lance’s abs to tangle their fingers together. “C’mon…”

“Yeah… okay… good idea…” He could keep up the act for a little longer, so if Bastian asked anyone, nothing would seem out of line.

The rest of the night was… surreal. The before and after Bastian versions of dancing with Shiro were night and day. Where teaching him the local dance had been light-hearted and playful, with lots of laughter and tripping over feet; the whole ‘let’s go dance’ thing was… extremely _date-like_... and yeah, that made sense for the little act they were putting on… but…

Okay, so the fast dances weren’t so strange. They kind of just got absorbed into the swaying crush of the crowd on the dancefloor. But when the tempo dropped and Lance expected that they’d go grab drinks, Shiro had pulled him close and they’d ended up slow dancing. Conversation wasn’t really an option and… look.

It was just a slow dance.

He knew that.

Nothing inappropriate or steamy happened. Lance slow danced with people all the time. It wasn’t like it _meant_ anything. He knew that, too. It wasn’t Shiro’s fault that he was stupidly handsome… and really, after all these years, Lance should be pretty much immune to the movie star good looks.

He _wasn’t_... but, you know… he _should be_... and, ordinarily, he was good at ignoring it. He really was! He was just… kind of thrown off, that’s all. The night had taken a weird detour and instead of the usual hanging out with Shiro stuff, he was cuddled up close enough to smell his cologne, to feel those muscles shift and move against him as they swayed to the music together. His arms were looped around Shiro’s shoulders and Shiro’s hands were settled against the small of his back, one thumb stroking up and down to the beat. It didn’t help that he was downright adorable as he sang along to the song, more or less. He had no clue what the lyrics were, and Shiro’s Spanish wasn’t strong enough for him to guess, so it ended up being an endearing kind of mumble-singing. The whole thing was… it was just… different… and he was not quite drunk enough to not notice that.

Sexy and cute were a lot easier to ignore when they happened individually, that’s all. Packaged together, along with the fact that Lance _knew_ what a remarkable person Shiro was aside from all of that?

It was hard on his tipsy brain, that’s all.

So, by the end of that song, drinks were no longer optional. He dragged Shiro off the dancefloor to discover that their table had been claimed by others. They ended up leaning against the small stage, and each downed another couple of Cuban Gingers, watching Rachel and her band absolutely killing it. Shiro kept him close, his arm slung low around Lance’s waist, their hips tucked up together so snug that Lance ended up having to mimic the arm-wrap.

Elena brought them over another round right before last call went out, smirking at Lance and it was only then that it occurred to him that his family was going to have _questions_.

Great.

Yeah, he really needed that last drink.

* * *

The night was warm, but compared to the bar, the breeze was refreshing… and then chilly. Shiro had been more than a little confused when Lance had steered him back to his truck, because Lance wasn’t exactly falling down drunk, but he definitely shouldn’t be driving. But Lance had just tossed their shit into the cab of Nuevo Azul and punched a couple of buttons before climbing into the back.

“C’mon,” he coaxed, waving Shiro into the bed of the truck.

“Are we… sleeping here?” he asked, puzzled.

“Dude, no,” he laughed, “truck has self-nav! I don’t use it much, but it will get us home safe and sound… and we get to stargaze the whole way home!”

The bed of a pick-up truck was not the most comfortable mode of transportation, but Lance was apparently an old pro at making it work. He had some kind of bin thing back there and as the truck lurched into motion, he opened it and pulled out a thick blanket. By the time they lost sight of Marra Macs, the two of them were sitting pretty on several folded layers of the blanket, with one end folded up for them to lean back against and ready to wrap around them if it got cold.

“Told’ja Nuevo Azul would take good care of us,” Lance said, smirking at him. His face was flushed from the night air, hair blowing around in the soft breeze, eyes sparkling in the low light, and his smile was infectious.

“Yeah, you did,” he answered, “tonight was fun… couple of lil’hiccups, but a good night. Great night.”

“Marra Macs is always a good time,” Lance agreed easily, “those two did good there.”

“Mmmhmm… my new favorite bar.”

“You had a favorite bar before? Oh! I know! That weird ‘Earth-themed’ bar on New Altea? Noooo… the umm… really snazzy one on Grekagan!”

“What? No- alien bars are so… nope! The Anvil. You’ve been there. Me and Curtis had our anniversary parties there.”

“Shiro, no,” Lance shook his head at him, “you are not allowed to have the bar you celebrated all your anniversaries with your ex-husband as your _favorite_ bar. That’s just… it’s not even **sad** it’s just strange!”

“It’s not my favorite anymore! Marra Macs is now!” He tipped his head back so he could watch the stars. They’d already moved past the more populated areas and onto the quiet, almost deserted road that led to Lance’s beach house. “Besides, Curtis and I are good. Not _friends_ really… but friendly.”

Anything Lance might have been planning to say to that got forgotten when the truck hit a pothole that bounced them both several inches into the air. They tumbled together on the landing and Lance pulled the blanket over his shoulder, leaning into Shiro.

“This is your first visit since you got engaged,” he said after a few quiet moments.

There was something about his voice that sounded… sad, maybe? Or… shy? Shiro couldn’t quite put his finger on what had changed. “That can’t be right…”

“Nope, it is. I moved into my place just before the wedding, remember? Last time you were here, I didn’t even have the land. I was still staying with my folks.”

“Wow… time flies…” He must have imagined the weird tone, because Lance sounded like himself that time.

“S’good to have you back. Nice to get to show you more of the place than just the farm and the bar.”

“Yeah,” he slipped his arm around Lance giving him a half-hug, “good to be back. Haven’t felt this much like myself in years.”

“Cuba’s magic,” Lance said around a yawn, snuggling into the blanket. “Stars’re so pretty t’night…”

“Mm… no light pollution… amazing the difference that makes…” He shifted, tugging his own corner of the blanket around them. He had a good life, back home. He was happy there. Looking forward to moving into his farmhouse. All that was true… but he hadn’t been wrong. What he’d said to Lance was true- he hadn’t felt this much like himself in years. Maybe Cuba really was magic.

Another yawn from Lance, this time followed by him curling closer, his head coming to rest on Shiro’s chest, just below the metal of the emitter casing on his shoulder and one arm wrapping around his back. He smiled, indulging the impulse to rest his cheek against Lance’s soft hair.

Or maybe it wasn’t Cuba at all…

Maybe it was _a Cuban_ that held the magic…

One who welcomed him into his home with open arms. Who was the only person who seemed to understand the kind of life Shiro led now and its value. Who was kind and smart and talented and generous and loyal and compassionate and fun and who felt so effortlessly right curled up against him.

Maybe... it was _Lance_.

He suspected that if he was a little more sober, he’d be panicking right now. Instead, he caught himself remembering how Lance had made that one little noise when he’d tucked his face into the curve of that graceful neck. It had been a tiny little sound, somewhere between a gasp and a sigh. It could have just been surprise. Shiro wasn’t even sure Lance knew he’d done it… but he had, and then he’d _melted_ into him like it was where he’d been born to be.

It was such a tiny sound… but Shiro was just drunk enough to admit to himself that he really hoped he got to hear it again.

* * *

The metal felt deliciously cool as it trailed down Lance’s side with just enough pressure to keep it from tickling. He sighed into the kiss, clutching at short, pale hair that almost glowed in the moonlight. Hands grabbed his thighs and lifted, pressing his back into the rough surface of the wall. His keys fell from his fingers with a soft clatter as they hit the brickwork and his newly emptied hand flattened against that amazing back, pulling him closer. He wrapped his legs around narrow hips, triggering a moan that he felt reverberate through the man in his arms more than he heard it thanks to the soundtrack of the nearby waves.

The kisses tasted like Cuban Gingers, hot and sweet and strong. He smelled like the club, the ocean, and that familiar mix of his skin and his cologne. He smelled like Shiro and Cuba. God, that was such a heavenly combination!

Gasping for breath, he craned his head back, not caring that it smacked into the wall because the scrape of week’s worth of beard growth felt too damn good against his throat. “Holy shit,” he panted, skin sizzling, making him squirm with need. “Want you so bad…”

“M’right here, Lance,” he whispered, nipping at his earlobe, “m’not going anywhere… not anymore…”

“Bed… we should… bed…”

The mattress felt like it was floating, and Shiro laughed when Lance pushed him back onto it, crawling over his naked form. He settled himself on Shiro’s thighs, taking a moment to drink in the sight of him. Lance ran his hands over his chest, fingers dancing over strong muscles. He pressed little kisses, feather-light, to the scars, like he could make them better with a little dose of love and adoration.

“Llllaaannnce,” he moaned as Lance wrapped his lips around the hard length of his cock, metal fingers pushing soft brown hair back and tangling in the strands. It was sweet, tender even, and it made Lance smile. “Fuck, you look good like that…”

He lost himself in what he was doing- The slow, steady thrusts that filled his mouth and pushed into his throat, acting like a gag and muffling his moans. The thick, strong thighs draped over his shoulders, pressing rhythmically against his neck and head with every roll of those hips. The tight, wet heat wrapped around his fingers, clenching and fluttering when he hit the right spot, the right tempo. The hands in his hair. The sound of his name bouncing off the walls as tender little murmurs slowly morphed into throaty moans, and loud demands.

Water lapped at his feet. Sex on the beach was such a bad idea. Sand got everywhere. It was straight up not a fun time. But he didn’t care. Neither of them cared… and there were… ways around the worst of it. Ways like- Lance on his hands and knees, Shiro kneeling behind him.

“Fuck… Shiro… hurry up already!” His head dropped to rest on his forearms, elbows shifting in the warm sand.

Taunting fingers slipped free of him, replaced by the blunt press of a cock. Whining in impatience, he pushed back only to be stopped by an impossibly strong grip on his hips.

“Stop rushing… wanna enjoy this…” The hands lifted him, his knees clearing the sand. He couldn’t thrust back to meet him even if he wanted to, but why would he want to when Shiro had started moving and… oh God… he was fucking huge… felt so goddamn good.

He was going to crash the plane. Shiro’s mouth felt too damn good and Lance could barely hold onto a thought, but he had to fly the goddamn plane or they were going to die. Shiro moaned around him and Lance’s eyes rolled back in his head. He was so fucking close… so fucking close… Fuck this! Barely stifling a moan, he ripped his headset off, tossing it into the empty co-pilot’s seat and slammed his hand down on the autopilot button.

Shiro smirked around his cock, one eyebrow quirking upwards.

“Yeah, yeah… you win…” He groaned, letting his head fall back against the seat, “you always fucking win when you do this…”

The silken heat was replaced by cool air and the impossibly hot swipe of Shiro’s tongue over his balls. “I could stop…”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he hissed, grabbing a fistful of silvery hair, “you started this… you’re finishing me off… and when we get home…”

“I’m paying for it,” Shiro answered, grinning, “oh, trust me, I know… can’t wait!”

Still smirking he sank back down over Lance’s cock. Grey eyes peered up at him, only drifting closed when his nose hit Lance’s pubic bone. A pleased little purr rolled through Shiro and Lance’s head snapped back against the seat again. “You’re so fucking evil… so fucking perfect...”

They were gonna get caught. They were soooo gonna get caught. The house was bursting with guests and none of the bedroom doors locked… but for some reason that wasn’t deterring either of them.

He blamed Shiro.

Looking like sin itself in jeans and one of Lance’s t-shirts, dragging him into the bedroom and telling Lance that he had prepped himself before showing up at the party.

Definitely Shiro’s fault that he was balls deep in his childhood bedroom with a hand clamped over Shiro’s mouth and biting into his shoulder in a desperate attempt to keep them both quiet.

Shiro was, without a doubt, to blame for the desperate, needy way he was rutting into him, torn between wanting this to last forever and racing the countdown clock of some family member coming looking for them… finding them fucking like horny teenagers on the galaxy patterned quilt of his old twin bed.

They were sooo gonna get caught… stupid lock-less door… fuck, he felt so good.

Shouldn’t be doing this… such a bad plan… could never resist Shiro.

The evil little smirk on that handsome face.

Helpless to resist those kisses... those hands... that body.

Had to get closer, had to get _inside_ him… where he belonged… like they were _made_ for each other.

Had to.

Had to.

Had to have him.

Hadtohadtohadtohadto…

The bed shook and squeaked as he started to lose control, the slow, quiet grind giving way to powerful, hungry thrusts. Even with his hand muffling Shiro, he could hear the fucked out moans that pushed past his fingers.

Too loud.

They were soooo gonna get caught… they should stop… they really, really, really should stop…

Anyone could walk in… see them… see him… see him fucking _Shiro_...and… oh fuck…

Oh fuck… Shiro was cumming… and it felt like… heaven…

So fucking good…

So fucking close…

_Fuck!_

He was…

He was gonna...

Panting, Lance sat bolt upright in bed. _Fuck!_ It had been _years_ since he’d had dreams like that about Shiro. They’d never been quite that vivid before, though. Christ, everytime he blinked he got snapshots from them clear enough to mess with his head.

There was no way he was getting back to sleep after that! Might as well start his day. Beach workout, followed by hitting the weights should get rid of any lingering ghosts of dreams he shouldn’t be having in the first goddamn place.

He rubbed at his face, trying to shift his focus to non-raunchy activities he could plan for his houseguest. His shoulder throbbed unpleasantly. Fuck. That usually meant rain was coming. It also meant that weights were a no go. Mild arthritis, the doctor said, a combination of wear and tear and one too many injuries over the years. It would probably get worse as he got older, but for now it was pretty manageable. Given the shit he’d survived, he figured an achy shoulder was a small price to pay.

So… beach workout, _treadmill_ , shower and breakfast. That’d work. After all that, he’d definitely be able to hang out with Shiro without him guessing that Lance’s night was dreamscape refresher highlight reel of his fantasy top hits, complete with porno clips starring Shiro.

Maybe.

Yeah, it’d work.

Good plan.

He could do this.

He could act normal around Shiro and _not_ think about the dreams… or the dancing… or the play-acting…

Fuck- he was so screwed.

* * *

This time around, he slept through the hangover, although by the time he woke, he felt like he was made of salt or something. He hadn’t been this dehydrated in _years_. Yawning, Shiro made his way down to the kitchen, deciding to forgo teeth brushing and showering until after he downed a couple of _jugs_ of water.

“Hair of the dog and granola?” Lance asked by way of greeting. From the looks of it, he hadn’t been awake much longer than Shiro. Unshaven, and still looking adorably sleepy, his hair was still shower damp, and he had an ice pack strapped to his shoulder.

“No hangover,” he answered with a smile, nodding at Lance’s shoulder, eyebrows rising in silent question as he headed to the fridge for water.

“Either I tweaked it when I did the drop, or I passed out on it weird,” Lance replied, “s’not bad… an hour or so of ice will fix it right up. How do pancakes sound- Ooh! No! I’ll make crepes! I’ve got tons of fresh fruit and yogurt to have with them. Sound good?”

“Crepes sound amazing! You sure it’s not too much trouble?” Now that he had the fridge open, he opted to grab one of the sports drinks Lance had for after his work outs. He’d just pretend it was orange juice and not think about the sugar content. His electrolytes were probably all out of whack if he was this thirsty.

“Umm… hello? Did you miss how pumped I was for crepes? I fucking love crepes! We are sooo having crepes!”

“Alright, alright- geez!” he laughed, passing over the eggs. He didn’t cook, but he knew crepes took eggs. “I’ll get started on washing and slicing some fruit then.”

“Yesssss!” Lance did a little victory dance thing that was as dorky as it was adorable and memories of the entirety of the night before came back to Shiro in a rush. He nearly choked on the swig of drink he’d been taking. He felt the color drain from his face and then return all at once.

That fucking routine.

Keith being an ass with the ‘type’ comments.

Pole dancing.

Lance’s skin against his lips.

Lance in his arms on the dancefloor.

The ride home.

_That little noise…_

Oh crap… this was… not good! What the hell had he been thinking?!?

It was bad enough that his brain had been shorting out from the wayyyy too sexy dance routine and those fucking leotard tight things! Why on _Earth_ had he decided to intervene when he knew full well that Lance was more than capable of dealing with an uncomfortable conversation and a creepy guy? What the fuck had made him decide that the solution was to _play the role of Lance’s date_?!?!

He was never going to _not remember_ the way he’d melted, or how perfectly Lance fit against him, or how good his skin smelled, or how soft that brown hair was… or that little fucking sound he’d made. The one that echoed around in his head and made him want to know what _other_ sounds he would make if- _Nope!_

That was not breakfast-prep appropriate kind of thinking.

That was not long-time-friend appropriate thinking, either… but that didn’t seem to be preventing shit fuck all.

“Grab me the milk?” Lance asked from the depths of a cupboard full of mixing bowls.

“Mmmhmm… yup… sure…” Nodding as he struggled to regain his focus. Shiro grabbed the milk and set it on the counter. “Butter too?”

“Ooh yeah! Please,” standing, Lance set a bowl on the counter and turned to grab a whisk. His face was flushed, hair a mess and he let out a little huff of air before smiling brightly at Shiro.

He looked so damn kissable.

Shit.

Fighting panic, Shiro grabbed the fruit and the colander and started rinsing things in the sink. He needed to get a handle on himself, already!

“So,” Lance was saying, “I was thinking, you’ve been here for days already and you haven’t been in the ocean once! Yesterday was busy, and I’m supposed to have a package arrive sometime today, so what do you think of staying close to home and just enjoying the beach? Swimming, sunbathing, taking it easy?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “that sounds great. You really don’t have to be going all out to entertain me… you know that, right?”

“Oh yeah, for sure,” Lance laughed, “it’s all about finding the right balance of finally showing off how awesome Cuba is… and being all hedonistically lazy because it’s your vacation.”

“Hedonistically lazy?” he laughed.

“Mmmhmm… there’s an art to it you know. If you don’t do it right, you end up just feeling lazy and unproductive instead of… umm… refreshed and de-stressed. A day on the beach can be as effective as a _really_ good massage. You know the ones I mean? Where you end up feeling like you don’t have bones anymore?”

That was not an image he needed in his head- blissed out, boneless Lance on a massage table in nothing but a towel. It was… far too tempting. “Uhhh… yup… familiar with massages.”

“Are you okay?” Lance asked, concern lacing his voice.

“Yeah…. Yeah, of course. Just… not all the way awake yet, I guess.”

“Aww not used to late nights anymore, Shiro?” he teased.

“Vacation, Lance,” he reminded him, resisting the urge to toss a guava fruit at his head.

“I know, I know… I’m just giving you a hard time.” He handed Shiro a small mixing bowl, “for the sliced fruit.”

Shiro accepted the bowl and moved to the table with his supplies to peel, pit and slice an assortment of locally grown goodies. Lance turned on some music and puttered around in the kitchen. It took Shiro a few minutes to realize that the crepe batter was finished and ‘resting’ in the fridge and what Lance was actually doing was prepping up something for them to eat for supper in the slow cooker.

Most of the evening meals they’d had since Shiro’s arrival had been cooked that way. He was a little surprised by it. Granted, he didn’t cook, but it just seemed like a style of cooking that didn’t really match up with Lance’s personality. Lance was notoriously spontaneous and easy going. So, he asked about it… and Lance explained that he was usually running around and busy in the afternoons and evenings, so he learned it was either start dinner in the morning so all he had to do was dish it up when it was time to eat, or eat way too much take-out.

Given what Shiro knew about Lance’s usual routine, it made perfect sense. He certainly wasn’t complaining about all the yummy home cooking! The meal service he used back home was great, but it wasn’t the same as real home cooked food. Literally everything Lance had fed him had been absolutely delicious. He’d figured out years ago that he enjoyed the way Cubans seasoned their food, but Lance had been really stepping up with vegetarian meals. Back when he’d been visiting before Lance had gotten this place, Shiro had relied pretty heavily on rice and beans and filling his plate with various vegetable side dishes. He’d been fine with that, Lance’s family’s meals were tasty and hearty and had lots of options. This was different. Lance seemed to understand what made a meal feel complete in a way that most non-vegetarians didn’t. It was really nice.

By the time he was done with the fruit, Lance was heating up a skillet for the crepes. The weirdness from the start of their day had faded and Shiro was pretty sure things were back to normal.

See?

He just needed a little time to process new information, that was all. It was all good now.

“Take a seat at the island here and enjoy the show,” Lance said as he ladelled some of the thin batter into the pan. He tipped his hand back and forth, the skillet moving in figure eights for a moment before he returned it to the flame.

“The show?” he laughed, “harboring a secret ambition to become a celebrity cook or something?”

“What? Noooo! It’s _crepes_ , man,” he laughed, giving the handle of the pan a jiggle. “Nadia and Sylvio used to get so excited when I made crepes when they were little. God, they were cute! Oooh… okay- first one is always a disaster. I need to get a feel for the batter. Ready?” Flashing a cocky smile that hit Shiro like a sucker punch and made it _very_ clear that no- no, things were very much _not_ ‘all good now’, Lance grabbed the pan, shook it slightly and _flipped the crepe_. With a quick snap of his wrist, Lance sent the crepe up into the air. It flipped and Lance caught it perfectly, shimmying the hot pan until it smoothed itself out.

Somehow, some way… that was hot.

“Yes!” He punched the air, setting the pan back on the stove and bouncing around in something vaguely resembling a victory dance. Hand cupped around his mouth he made ‘cheering audience’ noises.

So cute.

“Oh, come on! That was impressive,” Lance cajoled, “a little validation?”

Laughing, because he was just so damn charming and loveable, Shiro shook his head and lifted his hands to clap softly. “Excellent work!”

Scowling, Lance slid the crepe onto a plate, then used a pastry brush to coat the pan with melted butter, pointing at Shiro with the pan, “just because I make it look easy doesn’t mean it is, you know!”

He held up his hands in mock surrender, “I believe you!”

“You wanna try to do better?” challenged Lance, eyes sparkling with a familiar determination.

How was that suddenly so damn _adorable_?

Shiro laughed, caught up in a wave of bubbly happiness, “no! No, you do your thing! I’m just here to enjoy the show, right?”

“Damn right,” he said with a nod, turning his attention back to the food.

It really was a show, too. Within a few minutes, Lance seemed to forget that Shiro was even there. He fell into a rhythm- butter, batter, dance around a little while the crepe cooked, shimmy his hips and the pan in unison, flip the crepe, give a little whoop when he invariably caught it, go back to the dancing (now with additional singing), slide the crepe onto the plate, and repeat. It was stupidly charming and Shiro was endlessly entertained by it.

“How many do you want?” Lance asked as he shut off the heat and eyed the tall stack of crepes. “As usual, I made enough for the whole McClain family so… looks like dessert is sorted for tonight… orrr… I could make mushrooms and onions in bechamel filled crepes for supper if you’d rather that than lentil soup?”

“Whatever you want, Lance,” he replied, “they won’t go to waste, either way… as for how many… ummm… three to start?”

“We’ll decide later then,” Lance said with a shrug prepping up the crepes for himself and Shiro and setting the plates on the island. “Oh! Right! Hang on…”

Shiro glanced up to see what Lance was doing and felt his heart stop in his chest. Lance sucked a smear of yogurt off of his thumb and Shiro’s mouth went dry, eyes snagging on his host and refusing to move away.

Not that Shiro tried all that hard to shift his focus. Lance slept in soft cotton jersey pants and a tank top, and even with the ice pack, as he rose up onto his toes and reached up to pull something from a high shelf in the cabinet, he evoked memories of the dance routine. The pale grey of the pants pulled tight over strong thighs, draped perfectly over a _seriously_ great ass. Well-honed back muscles stretched and bunched, and this time, they were just a few feet away instead of on the other side of a large dance classroom and ten feet up in the air.

Close enough to touch, really.

Shiro could sooo easily reach out with his floating arm and stroke his fingertips up Lance’s spine. Or he could rise from his seat and close that tiny distance, settle that amazing back against his chest again- no pretense this time. Just… touching Lance because he _wanted_ to. Let Lance know that he _wanted_ to touch him again. Hold him close again. Brush his lips over the pulse in his throat… again.

Hear that _haunting_ little noise again.

What would Lance do?

If he gave in to this new temptation that had gripped him, what _would_ Lance do? Would he _melt_ like he had the night before? Would he turn to face him? Loop his arms around his neck like he had on the dancefloor? Would he let Shiro press him back against the counter? Smile up at him with interest in those blue, blue eyes of his? Maybe even crane up to kiss- Jesus!

What the _fuck_ was wrong with him this morning?!?

He sent up a little prayer of thanks for both of the small miracles that had saved his pride: one- that Lance was still digging something out of the cupboard and hadn’t noticed Shiro flat out _ogling_ him, and two- that he was sitting at an island counter that protected his privacy while he got his suddenly-very-hormonal body under control.

Fuck, that could so easily have turned into a complete disaster!

“Ah-ha!” Lance turned to face him, grinning brightly and waggled a jar of pinkish-amber liquid at him, “Juniberry honey. Romelle left it here. Have you ever had it?”

“Ahh... no,” he shook his head, eyeing the jar skeptically. His experience with Altean foodstuffs had been… less than ideal. “I can’t say I have.”

“I keep forgetting I have it,” Lance said, sitting beside Shiro at the island and working at the lid to the jar. It seemed to be stuck, because it took a few tries and Lance let out a little grunt of exertion. Shiro’s eyes darted to the ice pack strapped to his shoulder and was about to offer to open it out of concern when the lid started to turn. “Here… you should taste it!” Snagging a spoon, he drizzled some honey over his crepes and then speared a slice of fruit with his fork and dragged it through one of the little pinkish amber puddles he’d created on his plate. Cupping his hand under the fork in case of drips, he turned to face Shiro, one eyebrow quirking expectantly as he offered the bite.

“Uhhh…” Before he had a chance to process that Lance was about to _feed him_ , that cupped hand settled against his jaw. Instantly, his pulse went nuts. A shiver ran down his spine, and Lance’s hand felt like it was electrified. Goosebumps broke out over his skin and he very nearly sighed. Thankfully, Lance didn’t seem to notice Shiro’s distinctly out of proportion reaction to such a small and commonplace touch! He slipped the bite into Shiro’s mouth, and Shiro accepted it dutifully.

The honey was odd. It was missing that cloying sweetness he generally associated with honey. Instead, it was sweet, but not overpoweringly so, with an odd tingling effect and a kind of brightness to it. It... almost _tickled_ making him scrunch his nose like that first sip of champagne always made him want to do.

“Good?” Lance asked, voice soft, expression open, his eyes wide and gorgeous as he peered up at Shiro, because he was leaning over that the top of his head was sitting a few inches lower than normal and he was… so close… Close enough that Shiro was sure he could count those long lashes and the little freckles that dusted the bridge of his nose and his cheekbones, almost invisible against the soft, warm brown of his skin.

“Mmmm?” He’d never really noticed the freckles before. It seemed like the kind of thing he would have noticed.

“The honey? Is it good?” Lance’s brows furrowed, his expression shuttering slightly, going guarded. “Shiro? Is everything okay?”

“What? Yeah! Yes, of course. Everything’s fine!” He assured his friend, _I just woke up at fourteen again or something_. Trying to bring his attention back to where it _should_ be, he nodded. “The… um.. The honey is good.”

“Oh cool,” grinning, Lance slid the jar across the island counter, “help yourself.” He did a little wiggle that was impossibly cute and his whole face lit up with happiness. “I am so excited for crepes, you have no idea!”

It took more effort than Shiro wanted to admit, but he managed to make it through breakfast.

Crepes were an evil food, he’d decided.

Evil.

Between the happy little murmurs and purrs Lance made while he ate them, and the licking of honey drips off his fingers, Shiro thought he was going to just… _ignite_ or something. Seeing Lance’s tongue peek out every now and then to catch a little bit of leftover yogurt on the fork (or _worse_ his lips) certainly didn’t help the situation.

Also, he suspected that the fucking honey might have aphrodisiac properties, but he had no idea how he would ever manage to _ask_ any of the Alteans he knew about that without also revealing that he’d had to resort to reciting his mantra of ‘patience yields focus’ on a loop to keep from tackling Lance at the goddamn breakfast table.

Somehow, he managed to keep control of himself, even taking over the job of cleaning up from the meal. Lance was ‘prepping for the beach day’ whatever that meant while Shiro washed the pot and the mixing bowl, stowed the leftovers in the fridge, and loaded the dishwasher. He glared at the jar of alien honey for a solid thirty seconds before finally putting it back in the cupboard and heading upstairs to get dressed for the day.

His room smelled like booze and too many bodies. The scent of the bar must have clung to his clothes and skin and hair more than he realised. It definitely needed to be aired out. Thankfully, the large windows faced the water, which meant that there would be a steady breeze all day long to freshen up the stale air and-oh…

Hand on the window frame, he froze.

Lance was already down on the sand, setting up. There were two comfy looking beach chairs set up with a cooler and a basket of assorted beach gear. From that distance he couldn’t make out much more than a volleyball, a couple of pairs of flippers, and two SUP boards and paddles. Pretty much what he expected for a beach day.

Somehow, though, he’d managed to blank on the fact that a day at the beach would mean a day at the _beach_ with _Lance_.

This was a bad, bad idea.

First of all, Lance _loved_ the water, so the whole day was going to be peppered with the million and one heart stopping smiles that Lance had in his arsenal. On top of that, it meant a whole day of sunlight catching on the freaking water droplets that Shiro just _knew_ were going to look far too tempting on that warm brown skin. Skin that was way, way, way too evident in those fucking dive shorts! Because _of course_ Lance wouldn’t be someone who wore board shorts. Of fucking course not! Why would he do that when he had _those legs_?!? They weren’t speedos, thank fuck, but the navy and silver dive shorts sat low on his hips and fit like a second skin to halfway down his thighs. So, _all_ that was… not good. And then… a volleyball? He had a flash of what Lance would look like jumping to spike a volleyball in those trunks... Jesus, kill him now.

While Shiro watched, Lance grabbed a beach umbrella and walked around a little bit setting the pole against the sand in a few different spots before finally settling on one that was just behind the two chairs and off to one side a little. The wind made the brightly patterned shirt he was wearing flutter slightly and billow out behind him, giving Shiro a far too tempting view of how the muscles in his back moved as Lance lifted the umbrella and promptly sank the thing deep into the sand. Deep enough that when he wiggled it, he seemed satisfied that it would stay put.

Good fucking God!

He prided himself on being someone with a lot of self-control, on being disciplined, and measured, and able to exercise restraint. He’d been through a lot and not only had it honed those skills, they’d saved his life more than once in situations of extreme duress. They gave him a lot of strength, enough to weather the worst that the universe had thrown at him.

He was not fucking strong enough for this shit!

Frustrated and aching with a need that had only existed for less than a day, and yet somehow was almost overriding all those years of carefully cultivated self-control, Shiro somehow managed to wrest his eyes away from the window. On his way to the bathroom, he grabbed his bag of toiletries. Given that he was headed into the ocean once he left the house, he _could_ postpone his morning shower to the evening, but the situation was... dire.

Based on the morning thus far, if he was going to survive an entire day on the beach with Lance, he was definitely going to need to… uhh… take matters into his own hands and perform some pre-emptive management of his reaction.

The shower spray was hot to the point that it stung slightly where it hit his skin and the sensation lingered even after he shifted under the streams of water to rinse off the shampoo and body wash. He’d actually debated whether the reported benefits of a cold shower would be worth the aches and pains it would trigger. This body might not have been ‘The Champion’ but Haggar had been thorough and detail-oriented when she’d crafted it, so the damage it had suffered matched up. If the water was too cold, it would make his muscles cramp and his joints ache. So, he’d ended up cranking the hot water- just the way he liked it.

Lance probably took cooler showers. He’d read somewhere that they were better for the skin, and all the jokes about Lance’s skin care routine came from a place of truth. So, yeah, he probably took short, cool showers… in this very room. He probably stood exactly where Shiro was standing now, naked under the stingingly powerful spray. He probably let out a little gasp when the cold water first hit his warm skin.

His gorgeous, impossibly soft skin. Water would sheet down over that strong back, running in little rivulets in along all the little hollows and divots between those strong muscles. All the places Shiro wished he could trace out with his fingers… his lips… his tongue.

The shower wasn’t a standalone one. It was part of the bathtub. Lots of room for two people. Groaning, already at half mast just at the thought of Lance showering, Shiro let himself imagine them showering together. Wrapping a hand around his stiffening cock he allowed his mind to wander. Images in vivid technicolor sprang to life in his imagination, prompting him to set a slow, steady pace with his stroking hand.

Bodies slick with soap, pressed together under the water. Suds skimming over those incredible legs and disappearing down the drain.

There would be laughter- not cruel or mocking. It would be playful and affectionate, because that was so Lance. He’d probably crack jokes until Shiro silenced him with a kiss. It would be tender, because Shiro wouldn’t be able to resist being tender with him when he was happy and joyful like that.

Yeah. Tender kisses. That’s how he’d start it.

Tender kisses, with Lance held against him. One hand in his hair, massaging his scalp and the other chasing those water droplets over his back. He’d map out every muscle, every line. Trace out every little bump and dip of his spine from hairline to tailbone. He’d palm that fucking _gorgeous_ ass… knead it…

Fuck.

He wanted that soooo bad.

Wanted _Lance_ soooo bad.

Wanted everything he was picturing. Wanted to feel his hand moving beyond that ass to grab one of those amazing thighs and wrap it wound his waist. Lance was flexible, his balance was amazing. Shiro could so easily picture the way he’d rock against him, grinding their straining cocks together.

He could practically _feel_ Lance’s hands- one grabbing at his shoulder, the other bypassing the emitter casing and instead wrapping around the back of his neck. He already knew from training and fighting beside him the way Lance’s breath rasped and rattled when he exerted himself and his memory was quick to add that soundtrack to visuals, sending this little fantasy trip to a whole new level.

Shiro’s hips rolled, seeking a body that wasn’t really there, thrusting into the tight, slick grip of his own hand. Breath coming in ragged, broken pants, he leaned against the tile wall, his face pressing into his forearm. Heat churned within him. Heat that had nothing to do with the spray of the water, or the steam filling the air.

Lance’s eyes, the blue almost glowing in the low, flashing lights of the club.

That wink and grin when he’d met his gaze during the dance, right before he flew through the air like some magical being.

The way he’d curled into him so perfectly in the bed of his truck.

Flipping the crepes.

Laughing as he sucked away the stickiness of honey on his thumb.

His little happy shimmy at getting to eat his favorite breakfast… somehow he’d stopped imagining things that would never happen and switched to actual memories… and _damn_ was it working for him.

It wasn’t a fantasy that was turning him on… not really…

It was just… Lance…

He knew how he fit against him. Knew how his skin tasted. Knew how it felt against his lips…

He could feel the ghost of Lance’s touch in his skin, warm and electric. Every casual touch, every comforting hug, every sparring impact… going back years and years.

Every point of contact there had ever been between them sparking like little fireworks in his skin.

Tiny explosions of pleasure lighting him up… pushing him closer to the release that hovered just beyond his reach.

He moaned and gasped, Lance’s name falling from his lips and if he hadn’t been so lost in it, he’d have been grateful for the sound of the water and the fan, because… he was not quiet… and Lance could come into the house at any time…

His hand was a poor substitute for what he really wanted. _Lance’s_ hand would feel so much better… annnnd he was back to fantasizing… back to wishful thinking… Imagining Lance there with him eager and real and hot.

He’d never had such a driving hunger for someone he wasn’t already involved with. He felt like he was starving for Lance… aching to lose himself in...

His hand.

His mouth.

God… his _ass_... tight and hot and slick, drawing Shiro deeper… those incredible legs wrapped around him… kisses that weren’t tender anymore, but hungry… demanding… Lance gasping his name…

That

Tiny

Little

Fucking

_Noise_

Halfway between a sigh and a gasp… somehow louder to Shiro than the crowd or the music… ringing in his ears… seared into his brain…

Soooo fucking _filthy_ …

Vision blacking out with the intensity of it, Shiro shattered on a strangled moan. Hips jerking, cock jumping in his clenching hand, he painted the pretty green tiles white with his cum.

* * *

Even after years, there was a part of Lance that couldn’t quite believe that he got to live on the beach. So many of his fondest childhood memories started with helping his mother fill a cooler with snacks and drinks for the day, getting slathered in sunscreen by a sibling who was yelling at him to stay still, and helping to lug chairs and towels and toys to and from the car. They’d been close to the beach, but this? _This_ was different. He didn’t have a front lawn, he had warm, white sand. He could actually throw a pebble from his deck and have it land in the ocean (it was, in fact, the very first thing he’d done once the deck was finished). His morning workout either happened on the wet sand, or consisted of surfing the first high tide.

It was a dream come true, and he firmly believed that living on the water the way he did helped him heal enough to truly enjoy life again. No matter what was going on in his life, no matter what was stressing him out, a day hanging out at home, right on the edge of the ocean was just the thing to recharge him and restore his natural optimism. So, after the head trip of running into Bastian and everything that followed that, he really needed some quality beach time. He suspected he wasn’t the only one, too. Shiro had seemed _off_ all morning.

He was just finishing the set up for the day when his phone rang. Veronica. He was tempted to ignore the call, but he knew it wasn’t really worth the hassle. The longer he dodged, the more she’d make him regret it. “Gooooood morning, Roni!”

“It’s like, noon,” she laughed, “late night?”

“I’ve had later,” he answered, taking a seat in one of the beach chairs and slipping on some sunglasses. If she was calling because of family gossip, she was going to have to earn the answers. “How’s work?”

“Mmm… there’s new information about governmental shifts in one of the countries on Jalkimervi. Rumors of a coup of some kind. I’ve been given a years’ worth of planetary media to analyze for the other representatives on their Coalition Board. We’re considered impartial, so…”

“So, you are basically trying to prevent a war?”

“More like, I’m trying to decipher whether the rumors are true, and if they are, whether it warrants intervention from the other countries.”

“Intervention, like a war,” he shook his head, “no pressure or anything. Yikes! No wonder you needed a distraction!”

“War would be an absolute last resort, Lance.” Her voice changed and he could _hear_ the sneaky little smile he just _knew_ was on her face. “Assuming there is any credence to the rumors in the first place… speaking of which…”

He rolled his eyes, that hadn’t taken long at all! “Who am I yelling at? Marco? Or Rachel?”

“Hold on… what would Rachel or Marco have to say?” Veronica asked, surprise replacing the sly tone of voice. “I haven’t been talking to any of the _family_! Ohhh… wait! You guys were headed to Marra Macs, weren’t you? Alright! Dish! What did Rachel and Marco see that they might tell me about?!?!”

“Ah-bip-bip-bip-bip! Hang on a second- what rumors were _you_ talking about??” Veronica had an uncanny ability to ferret out information, but she didn’t really talk to any of the people he’d seen since Shiro arrived _except_ family. She shouldn’t have heard any kind of rumors. Unless… could she have heard something about him working as a pilot?

“Nothing!” she laughed, “well, nothing major… Just… Keith mentioned that you took Shiro to the school…”

“Oh,” he laughed, “yeah. He hung out in the office while I taught a class and then Peter was being a shit and I asked Shiro for ideas on how to deal with him.”

“Soooo… he saw you dance?”

“Yes, Veronica, while we were at the dance school, Shiro saw me dance. That’s a thing that happens at a dance school- which you would know if you ever helped out.”

“I help out!” she argued, “I did the lighting for last year’s recitals, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. You did the lights for three evenings, and it is very appreciated,” he conceded. “So, why did Keith mention that I brought Shiro to the school?” He didn’t need to ask why Veronica was talking to Keith. The MFEs were as thick as thieves, and both Veronica and Keith were seriously involved with one of their little squad. Over the years, Keith had become as much Veronica’s friend as he was Lance’s.

“I asked if he’d been talking to either of you, Lance. Small talk involves shit like that.”

He wasn’t really buying her answer, but he wasn’t able to push because he spotted Shiro leaving the house. Along with a positively lethal coral-colored tank top and board shorts in a soft grey floral print with that same coral accenting the white flowers, he was wearing chancletas- which, for some reason, struck Lance as hilarious.

“Don’t laugh at me, Lance,” Veronica scolded, “it’s the truth.”

“Sorry,” he chuckled, “it’s not you. Just weird to see Shiro in chancletas.”

“You are so strange. You know that, right?”

“It’s a family trait,” he countered, “but I gotta let you go. Can’t be impolite to my houseguest and we’ve got a busy-ass day of eating shit on the beach ahead of us.”

“Alright… I should get back to work anyway. Say hi to Shiro for me.” He could hear the squeak of her office chair over her sigh, “¡Chao pescao!…”

“¡Y a la vuelta picadillo!” Disconnecting the call, he waved to Shiro and gestured to the other beach chair. “Veronica says hi.”

“How’s Roni?” He asked, settling into his seat with a sigh.

“Nosy, as usual,” he laughed, “pretending to have heard rumors. Trying to trick me into spilling any dirt by acting like she already heard it.”

“But… there’s no dirt?” He sounded so confused, and Lance had to shake his head. Sometimes, it was sooo obvious who grew up with siblings and who was an only child!

“She’s never going to believe that. She’s suspicious as fuck, and I spent most of my life hiding dumb little kid shit from her. Honestly, I’m not half as sneaky as she thinks I am.”

“Technically,” he mused, “you _are_ hiding a secret job from her, so her instincts aren’t wrong…”

“Mmm… you have a point there. Maybe I’m sneakier than I give myself credit for.” He grinned, making his sunglasses bounce up and down like in those old, old movies.

Shiro rolled his eyes at him as he put on sunblock. Most of the time, Lance didn’t really think about Shiro’s prosthetic. It was just… part of him, like Keith’s terrible hair, or Hunk’s ever-present headband. There was something unsettling about watching the free-floating hand apply sunscreen to his back, though. He almost offered to take over, but decided that was probably not a great idea for a couple of reasons.

“I can’t get over how gorgeous this spot is,” Shiro said as he capped the bottle and kicked off the chancletas, stretching out. “If someone told me to design the perfect place for Lance McClain to live, I don’t think I’d even be able to dream up something this amazing.”

“My very own little slice of paradise,” he agreed, “there’s a little island, too. We’d have to hike a bit around the bend up there, but at low tide, it’s close enough to paddle board to… the trick is that once we get there, we’d have to wait for low tide again to come back.”

“Another day then?”

“Sure. It’s not going anywhere. Last time Keith and Ryan were in town they actually camped out over there for a night.”

“Oh yeah! Now that you mention it, I remember Keith telling me about that. He said it was really peaceful.” He flashed Lance one of those movie star smiles that never failed to make Lance feel like they were the only people in the world. “I’m not as big on camping as they are though, so a day trip is fine by me.”

“I’ll add it to the list,” he answered, sitting up to grab a can of pineapple soda out of the cooler for himself and offering one to Shiro. “So, before you leave we have to do a family dinner at the farm so everyone gets the chance to see you, a monsters and mana night with Coran, check out a couple of restaurants, hit the Varadero street market… I feel like I’m missing something…”

“Allura’s park,” he said softly, “but we don’t have to do that if you aren’t up to it...”

It wasn’t _officially_ named Allura’s park, but that’s what most of the locals called the small park that she’d restored with her quintessence on their first (and only ‘official’) date. There was a small plaque in memoriam of her and explaining what she’d done. Over the years he’d gone through periods where he went there often, and periods where he couldn’t bear the thought of going, so he understood why Shiro was being cautious about suggesting it. “Oh, no- I’m fine. It’s fine.” He smiled softly, “she was your friend, I should have known you’d want to go. I’m overdue for a visit, anyway.”

“Are you _sure_? I can get Roni to go with me on the way to the shuttle…”

“Shiro, it’s fine, I promise. If it wasn’t, I’d say so. I know you’d understand and wouldn’t push. It’s been... a long time. It doesn’t hurt the same way anymore. It hasn’t in years.” With anyone else, he might feel the need to justify that, add a disclaimer about how Allura would always be in his heart. But this was Shiro, and he’d been through something similar. He’d seen Lance through the bleakest parts of his mourning her. Lance had seen him fall apart with grief over Adam, had helped Shiro when he was being eaten up with regrets over how he’d left things with his former fiance. Shiro got it.

More than anyone else in Lance’s life, Shiro _got him_.

He nodded, and Lance knew that he accepted his answer. “Speaking of hurts… how’s the shoulder? Setting all this up didn’t make it worse, did it?”

“Nah… I’m made of tougher stuff than that. It’s just a bit achy now. Nothing to worry about.” Of course, now that it had been _mentioned_ his shoulder started to throb. He rolled it in an attempt to loosen it up a bit.

“It’s the muscle, right?” Shiro asked, nodding at his shoulder.

“Mostly, yeah.” The arthritis wasn’t muscle pain, but whenever it acted up, he involuntarily tensed up, which made the pain worse. He knew that it aggravated the muscle until it cramped, and if it went on long enough, it would fatigue the muscle and cause stiffness. The whole thing was a messed up cycle. It was just that _knowing_ that didn’t do a hell of a lot to stop the tension that started the whole thing from happening.

Shiro shifted, sitting up straighter and settling his feet into the sand- one on either side of the beach chair. “C’mere,” he said, slapping the chair in front of him, “I can help.”

“You can?” Was Shiro offering to massage his shoulder?!

“I’m no pro, but I’ve been told I give a decent shoulder rub. Sit. Think of it as… me finally getting a chance to pay you back a little for all the headache help.” There was something _odd_ about Shiro’s voice. Technically, it had been the clone that had been plagued with headaches. Shiro had told him that he had all those memories and considered them one and the same person... But, Lance figured that it wasn’t really something that he was all that comfortable talking about, so that was probably why Shiro seemed so awkward all of a sudden.

“You don’t need to pay me back for that, Shiro,” he pointed out.

“I know… but I want to help, so would you just sit over here already?”

There really was no way he could say no without making it super weird… and probably having to dodge _questions_ about why- yeah, definitely not up to fielding any questions! Not with the dreams from the night before still nice and fresh in his brain. “Uh… okay… sure.”

This was gonna be so weird. He just had to accept the weird and deal with it… because the alternatives were… just… worse.

He felt like a middle schooler with a crush, but he got up and crossed the small distance between the two chairs. Suddenly, he really wished that he’d spiked that pineapple soda with something. A _real_ drink would go a long way for settling his rapidly fraying nerves. The chair creaked slightly as he sat and Lance was grateful that he’d shelled out the extra money for sturdy, good quality chairs. Neither of them were particularly small guys. Lance was just over six feet tall and he hovered around the two hundred pound mark, and Shiro was both taller than him and a bulkier build.

Once he was confident that the chair wasn’t going to collapse or something, he shrugged out of his shirt and balled it up in front of him. Shiro cleared his throat and poked gently at the shoulder, the metal of his fingers warm against Lance’s skin. That never failed to surprise him. Even after all this time, he couldn’t seem to shake the expectation that the prosthetic would be cool to the touch, but Shiro’s hands, whether natural, Galran, or Altean, were always warm.

They were only ever cool in his dreams.

Damn.

His brain just _had_ to go there, didn’t it?

“Uhh… just… let me know if I hit a tender spot or use too much pressure or whatever,” Shiro said as he moved Lance’s arm around a little.

This was so weird.

 _Why_ was this so weird though? He’d been friends with Shiro for ages. It’s not like it was unheard of for friends to touch each other. Hunk gave amazing backrubs and Lance had zero qualms about enlisting him to get rid of knots and tension in his back. Hell, he’d once had to check to make sure that Keith hadn’t torn a hamstring… and that was way more potentially awkward than a little shoulder rub!

He was just overthinking things.

It was fine.

Totally fine.

“Lance?”

“Hmm?” Shit! There’d been a question! God, why was he such a disaster all of a sudden?? Nothing had changed. It shouldn’t be this nerve-wracking to be around Shiro! “Oh… yeah… sure. I’ll speak up.”

“Okay good.” Hands lifted and then settled back on his shoulder lightly, the two thumbs pressing into the sore muscle with gentle pressure.

He could have sworn he heard Shiro take a deep breath, like he was about to do something scary… but that made no sense. His own nerves were getting to him- which was stupid.

It was so stupid.

There was no reason that things had to be any different today than they were yesterday. Nothing had happened that warrant anything changing.

They’d danced together. Big deal.

There’d been like a ten minute interval where they play acted like there was something more between them. Whoop-di-doo!

They’d been through hell and back a few times over in the years, and years that they’d been friends. A couple of dances and a little misdirection shouldn’t even be a blip on the radar!

He flinched slightly when Shiro hit a stubborn knot.

“Yup, found one,” there was a hint of laughter in Shiro’s voice, “I can get it, but you’re gonna want to breathe through it.”

“Nasty one, huh?” he guessed. He was in good shape, but when his muscles decided to knot up on him, they tended to be stubborn about it.

“I’ve seen worse… but, yeah, it’s pretty tight. I’m gonna try just putting steady pressure on it first. See if it let’s go on its own.”

Ugh, Lance hated that approach. Like, it _worked_ so he couldn’t bitch, but it burned like a motherfucker. Yeah, he was definitely going to have to breathe through this. “Alright,” he said, taking a slow, steady breath in, “ready.”

One of Shiro’s hands flattened against the front of Lance’s shoulder and the other pressed on the knot with a constant, focused pressure that made Lance hiss.

 _Jesus fuck!_ No matter how clearly he thought he remembered this, it still never failed to surprise him.

“Sorry… it sucks, I know… hopefully it’s less stubborn than you are…”

“Ha ha,” he grumbled, “how are you such good friends with my sister and _still_ calling me stubborn?”

“Umm… because I know you?” Shiro laughed, “you are every bit as stubborn as Veronica. You guys just dig your heels in about different things.”

“Yeah, right,” he snorted.

“It’s true… you drive her nuts, you know that? You are the only sibling that doesn’t cave to her every time. She bitches about it. How she can’t get you to talk if you don’t want to talk… how she can’t get you to rejoin the Garrison… You’ll let something go if it doesn’t matter to you, and you are more inclined to try to keep things from getting too awkward or stressful for people, but once you put your mind to something, if it _matters_ to you? Nobody is getting you to give up on it.”

“She hasn’t given up on the Garrison thing yet,” Lance pointed out on his next careful exhale, “so jury’s still out on who is gonna outlast who on that issue.”

“Yeah… well, you pulled yourself out of unconsciousness to shoot Sendak, so I’m pretty confident that your strength of will is gonna trump hers.”

He laughed, relaxing now that they were chatting like normal again. “I’m not sure that’s something I can really take credit for, Shiro! I don’t even remember doing that!”

“You still did it, though.” He insisted, and Lance could _hear_ the smug little grin. “Ah-ha! There we go! It’s letting go, feel the difference?”

“Yeah… doesn’t feel like a hot poker anymore. Thanks!” He shifted his weight, ready to stand when Shiro’s grip tightened, keeping him from moving.

“That was _one knot_ , Lance. Given how fast I found it, I’m betting you’ve got others. Stay put. I’m not done yet.”

“Bossy,” he griped, but he stayed where he was. Shiro moved his hands so he could work the muscles with slow, smoothing motions that stretched as much as they massaged. “Have you decided what you want to do for dinner?”

“I’d hate for the crepes to go to waste…”

“Yeah, that’s never gonna happen,” he laughed, “if we don’t use them for dinner tonight, then I’ll either do dessert crepes, or we’ll have them for breakfast again tomorrow.”

“You are spoiling me, you know that? When I go home the meal service is going to seem so… lackluster.”

“Well, this time maybe you won’t wait _years_ before you visit again!” He meant that to be light-hearted and playful, but based on the way Shiro’s hands stilled for a beat, it might have had more bite than he intended. Shit. “I mean… Roni’s flying can’t be _that_ bad, right?”

“It’s pretty bad,” Shiro laughed, relaxing. “Maybe I’ll get re-certified… keep my flight hours up with Cuba visits?”

“You’re always welcome,” Lance replied, thinking back to the way it had been for a time. That narrow little window between the period where he was barely able to function from the weight of his grief for Allura, and when Shiro and Curtis had gotten together. His visits had been frequent then- at least once a month. He’d understood when Shiro had stopped coming- Lance was through the worst of his mourning, no longer needing to rely so heavily on Shiro’s shared experience… and who would choose spending the weekend hanging out on a farm with their old teammate and his extended family over a weekend with their brand new boyfriend? It had been the right thing for Shiro, and he didn’t begrudge him that… but that didn’t mean he hadn’t _missed him_. “I mean it. My door is always open for you, Shiro. You can visit whenever you like.”

“I know, I know. You’ve made that clear.”

“For the record,” he said, before he could think better of it, “Curtis was, too. I hope I never gave you the impression he wasn’t.”

“You didn’t, Lance,” he said, his voice taking on an odd tone that Lance couldn’t quite decipher without seeing his face. “We knew the standing invitation included him. It just… never ended up being the right time.

“Alright… Good.” The conversation faltered, both of them going quiet, something… _uncomfortable_ hanging between them. It was strange. Lance couldn’t remember the last time there had been an _awkward_ silence between them, usually when they went quiet it was comfortable and relaxed.

This was… decidedly _not_ either of those things, but he wasn’t sure how to fix it, so he just… left it alone. No one ever died from a bit of quiet on a gorgeous beach day. Once upon a time, he’d have worked himself into a tizzy trying to fill the silence, now he was okay with waiting for it to correct itself.

Shiro continued to work on his shoulder, moving out from the joint enough to include more of Lance’s back and upper arm. There were more knots than Lance expected, some of them annoyingly stubborn, but one by one, Shiro got them to relax and let go. It had been ages since he’d had a decent massage and he was starting to think he was genuinely in need of a proper one.

“Um… is that… _Altean_?” Shiro asked as he moved Lance’s arm to reach a persistent knot.

“What?” It took him a second to realize what he was talking about. “Oh… the tattoo…” It covered a scar. A slice, high on his side, following the line of his ribs. He’d gotten it when Voltron had broken apart and crashed to Earth. Superficial, but it had needed stitches, and for some reason, it had bothered him more than the few other scars he had. An Altean broadsword wrapped in the flowering Cuban Pea vines that were so common in his home, covered the scar proper, a few lines of verse inked below it in the same blue as the flowers. “Yeah. It’s a poem that Coran showed me. It says: The love you gave so selflessly took root in me; Its stem is loss; Its leaf is pain; Its blossom- my life after you. I bloom in grief.”

“Pretty,” Shiro said quietly, “sad, but very pretty.”

“It’s not sad,” he said, “not really. It’s about moving on from the sad. The bloom. I just… I wanted a way to wear my grief that was private, to balance out the marks, you know?”

“They still bother you?” His hands had stilled, voice an equal mix of concern and curiosity. Shiro was very familiar with his conflicting and changeable emotions about the marks Allura had gifted him with.

“Not since the tattoo,” he answered, smiling softly. “Now… it’s like, the marks are as much for you guys as for me. Maybe more. They remind you all that she’s still… invested. That she’s part of us. She chose them as her symbol. The tattoo… that’s just mine. It was a decision I made, and I don’t have to share it if I don’t want to. It’s about how my life is _different_ because I loved her, but it is still _good_. I’ve never tried to explain this before… I’m not sure I’m doing a good job…”

“No, you are,” he felt a gentle squeeze on his shoulder and fingers skimming over the tattoo. It felt strange, in the way of touching scars… but also in that disconcerting tingling awareness that Shiro’s touch could cause. “It makes complete sense. I really like it. I always meant to get a tattoo, just never got around to it.”

“Do you know what you want? Because I can definitely pull some strings if you are serious…”

“I do, actually. Nothing fancy, just… that Voltron v-shape from our armors? I want that, in black, with a gold border. For the Black Lion, and the Atlas.” He laughed softly, “nothing as ambitious as yours.”

“I think it sounds great, Shiro. Simple. Elegant. It suits you. Give it some consideration. If you decide you want to get it, let me know and I’ll make it happen.”

“Vacation tattoos are generally considered a major no no, aren’t they?”

“Meh… if you’ve wanted it for ages, then it isn’t exactly a spontaneous decision. I think that whole ‘don’t get a tattoo while vacationing’ thing is meant for drunkenly deciding to get a butterfly on your ankle or like a beer logo on your neck. That kind of reckless shit.”

“I guess so. Alright, I’ll think about it. At least I know that if you arrange it, it’s a reputable place.”

“I’m glad you have such faith in me.” Clapping his hands together, he rose, “alright, I’m hitting the water. Thanks for the shoulder rub. Feel free to join me, or just chill out in the sun for a bit!”

“Anytime, Lance,” he replied, flashing him a warm smile, and just like that, Lance completely forgot about the little awkward conversation stall. They were back to their usual easy camaraderie, like it had never even happened.

* * *

It might not be his _proudest_ moment, but Shiro had definitely made the right call with his shower activities. Lance plus water was every bit as tantalizing as he’d suspected. He wasn’t sure _what on Earth_ had possessed him to insist on giving Lance a shoulder rub, though! The words were out of his mouth before he’d even realized he’d formed the thought… and his skin had been so warm, smelled so good, felt so good under his hands… and those little noises he’d tried to stifle had been…

_Damn…_

And alllll that was before he’d spotted the _tattoo_!

It was probably in really, really bad form to find someone’s memorial tattoo so sexy, but here he was. Apparently, this trip was just going to showcase just how little self-restraint he actually had.

Great.

He’d never really considered himself particularly hormonal. He’d never really understood the strong reactions other guys seemed to have to attractive people, but a lot of really dumb stunts and bad decisions made by his friends over the years were starting to make more sense.

Lance was… temptation personified.

It took far more effort than he cared to admit just to _not_ touch him, or say something inappropriate… he was relying entirely on his sunglasses to hide just how much time he spent just watching Lance. Because, it was an embarrassing amount of time for a grown man to be ogling his friend.

He was so out of his depths with this unexpected reaction to his host.

This was like _honeymoon_ levels of lusting after someone. He had no idea how he was going to survive the remainder of his visit without losing his mind, or doing something really, really _really_ dumb.

He was back on the beach chair, letting the sun bake him dry after a (desperately needed) dunk in the ocean when he heard his phone go off.

**Spitfire: hello?**  
**Spitfire: how was marra macs? Did u die of thirst?**

**T.S.: very funny**

**Spitfire: that bad, huh?**

**T.S.: worse**  
**T.S.: this is nuts**

**Spitfire: man, I wish I could see this**

**T.S.: why am I friends with such an asshole?**

**Spitfire: because I keep saving your ass, that’s why**  
**Spitfire: what happened last night?**

**T.S.: Nothing happened!**

That… wasn’t quite true. Slightly hazy memories from the night before played through his mind. What had happened was that somewhere between leaving the house and returning, Shiro had turned into a complete horndog with a laser focus on one of his best, oldest friends.

**Spitfire: after all that shit about the dancing, nothing happened?**  
**Spitfire: are you serious??**

**T.S.: Why wouldn’t I be serious?**  
**T.S.: Lance is my friend**  
**T.S.: Just not used 2 seeing him… like that**

**Spitfire: like what?**

Shiro scowled as his screen filled up with gifs of big-eyed, eager faced celebrities and cartoon characters, some of which were captioned with ‘DISH! DISH! DISH!’. What the fuck had gotten into Keith?!?!

**T.S.: since when ru such a gossip?**

**Spitfire: since you spammed my phone with a play by play of you falling ass over teakettle for Lance like a fourteen year old**

**T.S.: that’s an exaggeration**

**Spitfire: scroll up you fucking lovesick disaster**

**T.S.: did u message just 2 give me shit?**

**Spitfire: yes**  
**Spitfire: obviously**

**T.S.: I’m glad ur having fun then**

**Spitfire: I am**  
**Spitfire: nice to see you fall for someone again**

**T.S.: don’t jump the gun**  
**T.S.: just because I realized Lance is hot doesn’t mean I fell 4 him**

Sure, he’d never really been someone who was into casual hook-ups or playing the field, but that didn’t mean he was incapable of seeing that someone else was attractive. He was just… adjusting. That’s all.

**Spitfire: kinda does though**  
**Spitfire: you’re like me that way**  
**Spitfire: besides- he is EXACTLY your type**

He wasn’t sure where Keith was going with this conversation. It seemed like he was veering pretty sharply away from the whole ‘being a little shit’ thing that he’d been doing up to this point. Now it felt almost like… matchmaking… which was a _bad_ idea. Shiro had learned his lesson about his suitability for relationships. Not everyone was meant to pair off. Maybe one day he had been, but now… probably best if he didn’t.

**T.S.: given my track record that is not a ringing endorsement**  
**T.S.: 1 failed high school romance 1 failed engagement & 1 failed marriage**  
**T.S.: should probably steer clear of ‘my type’ going 4ward**

**Spitfire: you are an idiot**  
**Spitfire: real talk? You and Lance would be good together. Really good.**

That was _definitely_ matchmaking talk! He needed to nip this in the bud. Like now!

**T.S.: Knock it off**  
**T.S.: Lance is my friend**  
**T.S.: it’s bad enough that I’m reacting like this**  
**T.S.: the last thing I need is to catch feelings 4 Lance**

Speaking of… where the hell _was_ Lance at the moment? He’d grown up a lot, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t still a decent chance that he’d pluck the phone out of Shiro’s hands to say hi to Keith… and see… just… _allll_ of that.

What a nightmare that would be!

Reflexively, he flattened his phone screen to his leg like he was in danger of getting busted watching porn or something, and scanned the beach for Lance. Unsurprisingly, he spotted him out in the water, slicing through the waves on one of the paddle boards. He looked like something out of a tourism ad.

**Spitfire: holy shit**  
**Spitfire: okay first things first- there’s nothing wrong with your type, or you**  
**Spitfire: Lance is a lot like Adam and Curtis, sure. But he’s his own person**  
**Spitfire: I never knew high school guy, but no high school relationship sticks**  
**Spitfire: so he doesn’t count**

**T.S.: here we go…**

For someone who was so skittish, it was remarkably easy to get Keith started on a long rambling stream of consciousness deconstruction of relationships and emotions. The guy couldn’t resist a challenge or a puzzle and interpersonal relationships hit both those targets for him. Shiro had lost count of the number of nights over the years that he’d spent listening to Keith try to untangle the motivations and reactions of the people around them. It wasn’t _gossip_ , really… just an attempt to understand the people he knew and had to interact with, because he knew that he wasn’t great at social situations in the moment.

**Spitfire: shove it**  
**Spitfire: Adam didn’t get why you had to take the mission and hit you with a dumbass ultimatum**  
**Spitfire: and you were right not to fall for it**  
**Spitfire: still say that you two would have figured it out if the galra hadn’t happened**  
**Spitfire: but Lance had the chance to go home with Sam and stayed**  
**Spitfire: he gets that sometimes the job trumps everything else**  
**Spitfire: Curtis understood putting your career first but couldn’t understand putting anything ahead of the job**  
**Spitfire: Lance walked away from the Garrison because he needed more than that**  
**Spitfire: He knows you better than either of them did. You trust him more than them.**  
**Spitfire: you never let Adam or Curtis see you be scared or dorky or selfish**  
**Spitfire: Lance has seen all of that**

**T.S.: where is all this coming from?**

**Spitfire: pretty sure I said all this about Curtis before the wedding**  
**Spitfire: he’s a good guy I like him**  
**Spitfire: and I wanted to be wrong but I never liked him for you**  
**Spitfire: wasn’t Adam’s biggest fan either**

Shiro snorted, Adam had been so sure that Keith _hated_ him, but he hadn’t. He was just… slow to warm up to people and just when he’d started to consider Adam a friend, things had fallen apart. Keith was nothing if not loyal, and he’d basically declared Adam persona non grata for hurting Shiro. Thankfully, since Curtis was good friends with Ryan and the other MFEs, he’d been significantly less intense about the divorce. He’d mellowed quite a bit since his cadet days.

**T.S.: am I supposed 2 conclude that u R Lance’s biggest fan, then?**

**Spitfire: no jackass**  
**Spitfire: that would be YOU**  
**Spitfire: closely followed by the entire McClain family**  
**Spitfire: I’m not even top 10**

**T.S.: I am not**

**Spitfire: when have you ever thirsted for someone you weren’t already gone on?**  
**Spitfire: don’t even bother to answer because I know it is a big fat never**  
**Spitfire: we talked about this shit when I was figuring myself out**  
**Spitfire: I know how you work**

**T.S.: even if u r right (ur not) it is a moot point**

**Spitfire: you are so dense**  
**Spitfire: ever wonder why Curtis was so sure that hyper-friendly Lance didn’t like him?**

**T.S.: Curtis was wrong tho**

**Spitfire: whatever**

He fought the urge to growl in frustration. He loved Keith, he really did, but sometimes he really wanted to throttle him. This was a whole new flavor of Keith being a pain in the ass though and he wasn’t sure how to deal with it.

Thankfully, he was spared from having to continue the conversation because Lance was somehow already well on his way back to shore.

**T.S.: gtg talk soon**

**Spitfire: call me later if you need to talk**

Lance set the paddle and board aside and towelled off before returning to the seats and opening the little cooler. “I am starving! How about you?”

“Uhh…. yeah,” he answered, distracted by the way that a few stray water droplets caught the sunlight, making it look like there were little gemstones adorning Lance’s brown skin. “I… uh… I could eat.”

“You want… ummm… roasted chickpeas? Or smoked dulse chips?”

Shiro couldn’t help but laugh, delighted. He hadn’t been expecting Lance to have snacks for him beyond regular potato chips and fresh fruit. “You have roasted chickpeas?”

“Umm… Hello? Have I not proven that I am a top caliber host? Of course I’ve got roasted chickpeas! You didn’t shut up about them for a solid month when that market by your place started carrying a new flavor!” There was some rustling and then Lance spoke again, “alrighty! I’ve got honey sesame, sweet chili heat, or… ummm… ponzu.”

“Ponzu?!? Where did you find ponzu chickpeas? I didn’t even know that they made those!”

“Ponzu it is,” he said, flashing Shiro a grin as he tossed over the little foil bag. “I’m gonna go with the spicy ones!”

They went quiet for a bit, crunching on their snacks and watching the water. Every few minutes, Lance glanced over at him, a strange expression on his face.

“Are we really not going to talk about last night?” Lance asked eventually.

Shiro’s blood froze in his veins. “Uhhh… I wasn’t _planning_ to, no…” Why on Earth would Shiro want to talk about his very inappropriate response to one of his oldest and closest friends?!? Why would _Lance_ want to talk about it?!?!

Lance’s handsome face twisted into a scowl and he shook his head. “I don’t wanna sound ungrateful.”

 _Okaaaaaay…_ That was a strange way to start this conversation…

“Because you made things a lot easier… but… just… for the record? I can handle myself.”

Wait… _What??_ He blinked owlishly at Lance while his brain tried to decipher what was happening.

“It’s just kind of complicated, you know? I always have to think about how my actions will impact my family.” He rolled his shoulder and dropped his eyes, like he was ashamed.

Shiro’s pride prickled- how would him being attracted to Lance affect Lance’s family? Unless… this was Lance letting him down easy… in which case, what the _fuck_?!?!

He’d never gotten the impression that anyone in Lance’s family was the slightest bit homophobic- Veronica was certainly vocally out and proud.

So, was it something about _him_ specifically? Did they not like him? Did they have an issue with him being divorced?

The age difference? Lance was nearly thirty, well into adulthood.

Was it because he used to outrank Lance? They’d both been civilians for years now!

Besides, Voltron didn’t have a rank structure the way that the Garrison did, and when he’d been on the Atlas, Voltron was pretty autonomous… If anything, _Allura_ had outranked them all, being an actual Princess.

Was it _Allura_? Did they think it was disrespectful to her memory? Surely, they didn’t expect Lance to never get involved with anyone ever again!

“I could be more direct, but I don’t want to risk any backlash that would mess with Marra Macs, so I’ve been dodging… which I only need to do for another few weeks,” Head still dropped down, Lance peeked up at him through his lashes, his expression unreadable. “Then he’s leaving Cuba and won’t be an issue anymore.”

Oh.

Oh!

_Ohhhhh! The guy!_

The smarmy asshole from the bar! _That’s_ what Lance was talking about. Shiro’s worry faded so fast and so completely, he nearly giggled, rolling his eyes at his own paranoia.

“Yeah, I am well aware that it’s a fucking mess, Shiro!” Lance snapped.

Huh?

“The married guy? That’s the mess?” He wasn’t sure if he’d missed some information or something. He must have, because Lance had shifted from awkward to angry while he was talking.

Anger flashed in those blue eyes, making them steely… which really shouldn’t be as hot as it was. “ _Obviously!_ You know what? I don’t have to defend myself to you! At least when I put myself out there, I don’t hide behind some glossy perfect media image created for me!”

“What??” He reared back, floored by the sharp turn this exchange had taken. “What are you talking about?! When did I- Wait! Are you talking about _me_? Is that what you think of me!?!?”

Muttering to himself in Spanish, Lance stuffed his feet into a pair of flip flops and stood up, “I don’t want to argue with you, Shiro. Thanks for the help last night. I didn’t _need_ it, but I appreciate it, all the same. I’m going for a walk to calm down. You’ve got the run of the house, it’s not locked. I’ll be back later!”

“Lance?” He had no idea how things had gone so sour, so fast.

“Not now, Shiro!” He didn’t even look back, just waved him off and strode toward the little path that ran behind the house into the trees.

As Shiro watched his friend storm off, his brain frantically trying to decipher how the conversation could have led to _this_ one thing became very clear. He swallowed against a sinking sensation. Oh… this was _such_ a mess.

Lance was pissed at him… and Keith was right.

Shiro was already completely gone on him.

* * *

Lance had walked until that fiery pressure that was his temper had died down. He’d learned to give himself some space, to seek out a bit of solitude in nature, when he felt that way so he didn’t say something he’d regret. Because, usually, he regretted anything he said when he felt that way.

Only once his heart-rate had settled back down to normal, and the heat in his veins had cooled a tad, did he let himself turn around and head back to his house. Only once he was well on his way back did he actually think about the interaction that had set him off in the first place.

Shiro rolling his eyes at him had stung. He had valid reasons for handling the situation the way he was! Shiro didn’t know anything about the situation!

Shit.

 _Shiro didn’t know anything about the situation._ Including the fact that Bastian was a fucking health inspector!

Okay, so he’d lost his temper and maybe over-reacted a bit.

Probably.

It was just… Lance had been trying to be mature about the whole thing and explain that the situation with Bastian was complicated… and over. Definitely over. He was just waiting for the guy to leave the country for the sake of the bar. But nothing was going to happen before that happened!

It’s not like he was _proud_ of trusting someone he shouldn’t- again. He’d been trying to thank Shiro, for fuck’s sake! But no, apparently Shiro thought he was just as easily led by his dick as he had been when Nyma had stolen the Blue Lion by feigning interest in him!

He wasn’t that dumb kid anymore!

He wasn’t… was he?

Maybe he was?

Maybe Bastian’s underhandedness was obvious to everyone but him? Maybe he was still so insecure that all it took was some flattery and a show of interest and Lance would fall for it, hook, line, and sinker?

No.

No, he was definitely past that. Bastian had flown under his radar because they’d been so close as kids. He’d played on the trust they’d built long ago, using it to distract Lance from things that might have raised a red flag.

It was hard on his pride, though, all the same.

It didn’t feel great to have been manipulated by someone he cared about.

It felt even worse to know that _his_ mistake could put his brother and sister’s livelihood at risk.

So, maybe… he was a bit… over sensitive about it. Defensive.

And maybe… he might be a smidge overly invested in making sure that Shiro, specifically, didn’t think of him as that same dumb kid that was an obvious mark to a couple of con artists. The big, bright, shiny _weakest link_ of Voltron.

The whole thing with Bastian last night had messed with his head.

The dreams had messed with it more.

Shiro’d been acting odd all morning, Lance could feel his eyes on him and he’d been distracted, awkward… and that had just amplified all the weirdness… and he’d just… snapped.

So… yeah… okay. He’d definitely overreacted.

Fuck.

He owed Shiro an apology. Two of them, really. One for overreacting and one for the dig about him hiding behind his image. That was a shitty thing to say to someone. Especially one of his favorite people.

He’d wrecked their laidback day on the beach that was supposed to be all about relaxing and letting go of stress.

Okay… so _maybe_ things weren’t as fine as he’d been telling himself. Maybe all this one on one time with Shiro was… getting to him. Maybe that little spark of lingering interest was… less a spark and more… banked embers, just waiting to flare back up stronger than ever with a little fuel and a breath of air. Fuel like sharing a house for a couple of weeks. Air like… that little act, the dancing, those _fucking dreams_.

Shit.

It wasn’t fine.

It definitely wasn’t ‘under control’.

He was so out of his depths… He had a sneaking suspicion that ‘low-level crush’ was… very much _not_ ‘low-level’, _or_ ‘a crush’. Not anymore.

Shitshitshitshit...

He paused, hand on the doorknob, fighting the urge to run the fuck away from his _own house_. He could do this.

He could.

He’d just… call Veronica later and rally some support or something. It didn’t have to be a nightmare.

Right now, all he had to do was apologize to Shiro and maybe load up some video games or something to serve as a distraction. No one ever died from a bit of awkwardness.

He opened the door and stepped into his house ready to apologize and move on, and stopped dead in his tracks.

“So, the delivery guy showed up while you were out and I signed for it,” Shiro said, rubbing the back of his neck the way he did when he was unsure of himself. “I’m sorry. I think I screwed up? I hope you can still return… this.”

“Uh… right,” he closed the door and smiled sheepishly, “you didn’t screw up. That’s the delivery I was expecting.”

“You were expecting a _crib_?”

“Yeah, actually. I was. It’s… not really for me, though.” He crouched down to read the label on the box. There was actually a chance that they’d delivered the wrong one, after all. “It’s kinda complicated. So… Nadia is pregnant.”

“Nadia? Your _niece_ Nadia? That Nadia?!? Sixteen year old Nadia??” Shiro gaped at him.

“Yep- that was pretty much my reaction, too. It’s… you know, not ideal, but it is what it is.” He shrugged, “the thing is… Lisa is sick. She’ll be okay! But she needs surgery, and she’s gonna need a lot of peace and quiet so she can rest both before and after. So… Nadia was going to move out on her own, but I couldn’t let her do that when I have all this space… and… you know, I love kids.”

“You’re taking in your pregnant niece?”

“Yeah, I am.” Lance braced himself for another round of the whole ‘have you really thought this through?’ lecture he’d gotten from each and every family member- including Nadia.

Instead, Shiro nodded and smiled, “yeah. That sounds exactly like you.”

“It’s a good plan,” he insisted, ready to defend it.

“Yeah, it is,” Shiro agreed. “She’s lucky to have you. You’re lucky to be able to do this for her. I know how important your family is to you. I’m guessing the crib doesn’t belong here, though. Where should we stow it?”

“Uhhh… upstairs,” he gestured toward the stairs, “I’ve been getting a room set up for the baby. Right next to yours actually.”

The crib wasn’t actually heavy, just kind of clumsy and awkward. It didn’t take long for them to get it up the stairs and into the room he and Nadia had been working on together.

“Oh wow,” Shiro said as they stepped into the room. Pretty much everything was pushed into the center of the floor and draped in plastic because they were still painting the walls. “This is amazing, Lance.”

“I can’t take much credit for it,” he laughed. “This is Nadia’s magic… I just did the purple and the lettering, everything else is her.”

The walls were painted a soft, cool purple that gradually got darker near the ceiling, which was a purple so deep it was almost black. The light fixture in the center of the ceiling was a moon, and Nadia had painted whole galaxies around it in shimmering metallic paints. Lance had painstakingly painted out all the lines of the poem that was the inspiration for the nursery around the room, starting at the lower corner of the door and spiralling up and around ‘like leaves on a breeze’, just the way she’d wanted. The walls were unfinished, Nadia’s art in various stages of completion.

“She’s very talented… is that… Altea?” Shiro pointed to a little cluster of stars near one corner.

“Mmhmm… most of this is the milky way, but she wanted to include some of the places I’ve been at the edges. So… that’s Altea, and over there is Mer, and… umm… Olkarion, there… and, of course, Arus.”

“Gorgeous,” Shiro breathed, moving to read some of the lettering, “The old moon laughed and sang a song; As they rocked in the wooden shoe; And the wind that sped them all night long. Ruffled the waves of dew; The little stars were the herring-fish; That lived in the beautiful sea… I don’t know this nursery rhyme…”

“It’s a poem, actually. ‘Wynken, Blynken, and Nod’. It’s about a dreaming baby… kinda. Nadia loves it, so… tada. Luis is carving her a cradle for when the baby is really small that looks like a wooden shoe, and the crib has this sailboat thing on the top of the railing, like a headboard, I guess? I dunno, it’s all her. I just do what I’m told. I don’t want her to feel like she shouldn’t be excited and plan and stuff, you know? So, many people act like because she’s young she’s supposed to be miserable or something. Doesn’t seem like a great way to start out a life to me. So… yeah… I’m letting her go a little over the top in here.”

“When is she moving in?”

“So far, the plan is the end of next month. That’s a few weeks before Lisa’s surgery, but if the surgery date changes, Nads will just move in early. Nothing’s set in stone.”

“Sounds like a very lucky baby,” Shiro said, smiling at him, “couldn’t ask for a better family.”

“Yeah,” he grinned, “my family is the best. Alright. We can leave this here for now. I’ll put it together tomorrow and send her some pictures. I need to wash the salt off but how do you feel about a few rounds of video games?”

“Video games sound great,” Shiro laughed, following him out of the baby’s room. “Does she know what she’s having?”

“Yeah- a little girl. Bay. Like, the plant, not the ocean. Bay Laurel. It is kind of a weird journey to get from one point to the other, but she picked the name to honor Allura.” He shook his head, “I think meeting a real live princess as a little girl might have had an impact.”

“Seems like the kind of thing that would stick, yeah.”

* * *

Whatever he’d done to upset Lance, it seemed like it had blown over pretty quickly. They’d played video games for a few hours, nominally interrupted by a late dinner. They ate in the media room like teenagers, ignoring their plates during rounds of the game and wolfing down as much food as possible while things loaded up. Lance had excitedly served up crepes filled with ice cream and fruit, covered in chocolate syrup, Altean honey and whipped cream for dessert. That had confirmed Shiro’s earlier deduction.

Crepes were an _evil_ food.

Evil.

Things were… mostly normal.

As normal as he could expect them to be with him reeling from the realization that Keith had been right, anyway. He was a mess, tripping over his words, self-conscious, and awkward, but if Lance noticed, he didn’t say anything.

Shiro couldn’t decide if that was a good sign or not.

On the one hand, he didn’t have to explain it. So, good.

On the other hand, maybe he’d been a complete disaster around Lance all along and just never realized. Maybe Lance wasn’t commenting on it because he just… thought it was normal for Shiro to be a complete mess. So… less than good. Not good.

He hadn’t felt this gawky and inept and ill-at-ease in… decades. Not since… oh fuck… middle school?

Yeah, middle school, when all his friends were discovering _boobs_ and he was discovering that they really didn’t hold as much appeal to him as the boy’s track team did. Especially Michael Tucker, the school’s best pole vaulter, with his tanned skin and bright green eyes; his long legs and glossy black hair…

and...

Fuck.

Keith was right about him having a type, too.

God damn it!

Regardless, the evening was a pleasant, if quiet, one, and he was starting to feel better about the whole situation by the time he turned in for the night.

So, he had a thing for Lance. Lance was a great guy, a good friend. It wasn’t a big deal. People dealt with unrequited interest all the time. It didn’t mean that Shiro couldn’t still enjoy his company and have a fun vacation in Cuba. They were adults. Everything would be fine.

It was fine.

He woke to rain pelting his window. The sky was dark with heavy clouds and the ocean looked different in the dim. That almost glowing quality was gone, the color darker, more grey than green. The waves were choppy and white capped. It was beautiful, in its own way.

By the time he made his way downstairs, Lance had a fire burning, breakfast waiting for him, and was curled up barefoot, wrapped up in a fluffy blanket on the couch with a book. It was adorably domestic and Lance was completely engrossed in his reading, which meant that there was almost no chance of him busting Shiro staring at him.

Which he was definitely doing.

Because Lance looked seriously adorable. He’d declared ‘rain means it is a pajama day’, to explain the soft flannel pants covered in cartoon eggs and bacon and the cotton t-shirt that spelled out in bright letters: ‘No yolk, U R bacon me crazy!’.

He chewed his lip as he read, which was stupidly cute.

Such a contrast to the perpetual motion machine that he’d been when he was younger, but not the slightest bit out of character for the man Shiro knew now. That boundless energy was still evident in the humming, the lip chewing, and the way he shook the foot that dangled over the edge of the couch. All of the traits he remembered from the young Paladin he’d known were still present, just mellowed and tempered, or cultivated and flourishing with age and maturity.

All the potential he’d been bursting with, realized.

Lance was a truly remarkable man now. Kind and wise and confident, but still adventurous and playful. Hard working without forgetting the importance of enjoying himself. Devoted family member, attentive and generous friend. It really was no wonder that Shiro had fallen for him… and that was completely aside from the fact that he’d grown into that lanky frame, filled out in all the right places, and was easily one of the most handsome men Shiro had encountered.

When he finished his breakfast, he loaded up the dishwasher and wiped down the counters. Lance turned his attention away from his book to smile at him when Shiro picked out a book of his own. It was a title he recognized as having been pretty popular when he was still working at the Garrison, but he’d never gotten around to reading.

“Good choice,” he said easily, scooting further down the couch to make room for him and picking up the coffee he seemed to have forgotten. “I love that book,” he said after he’d taken a sip, “you’ll have to let me know what you think of it.”

“Honestly, I’ve loved pretty much everything I’ve read since I retired,” Shiro replied, “I’m just so happy to be reading something other than reports!”

“Makes sense,” Lance laughed, “I do not miss tactical reports, that’s for sure.”

“Trust me, tactical reports are riveting compared to inventory reports.”

“Oof… I’ll bet! Yikes. Still, that’s a good one. I really love the relationship between the narrator and their neighbor. It’s this really cool representation of how our culture romanticizes co-dependency while also pushing a toxic level of independence. I dunno… it’s not really important to the plot or whatever, I just thought the push and pull of that dynamic was well done.”

“Sounds interesting,” he answered, getting comfortable on the couch.

He had no idea how long they spent reading together in virtual silence, but eventually, Lance got up to tend the fire, and excused himself to put the crib together. Shiro finished his chapter and set the book aside. The rain had gotten heavier over the course of the day.

It fell in sheets that didn’t even look real to him after so many years living in space or the desert. The wind had picked up, the waves that buffeted the beach larger and reaching further on the sand, and the sky was so blocked with clouds that it felt like late evening instead of midday. It was breathtaking, really, all that barely contained chaos and burgeoning power.

He was starting to see why Lance had missed the rain so much. Nature really was incredible.

Lance was still occupied upstairs, so Shiro decided to use the time to work-out. Lance had a treadmill, a set of weights, and a heavy bag, so while it wasn’t exactly a full circuit, it was enough to put him through his paces.

When there was still no sign of Lance after he was done his cool down and freshly showered, he kind of stalled out.

He missed him.

It had only been a few hours, and Lance was just upstairs, but he’d already started to miss Lance’s presence, his company.

He was probably hungry by now. Shiro certainly was. Padding into the kitchen, Shiro dug through the fridge and the cupboards. He couldn’t _cook_ but he was at least capable of making a couple of sandwiches. Before long, he was tapping on the door to the nursery, the tray held tucked against his hip boasting two BLTs made with the ‘fake-on’ Lance had purchased for him. He’d also rinsed some grapes and brewed up a pot of green tea, which they both drank black.

Lunch.

He was inordinately proud of that.

Lance was visibly frustrated when he opened the door, but a lot of that tension drained from his features when he saw the food, replaced by a warm smile that hit Shiro like his fourth jello shot of the night, sparking a near-irresistible urge to _giggle_.

“Have I been up here that long?” He asked with a chuckle, letting Shiro into the room.

“It’s been a minute,” Shiro replied, “I thought you might appreciate a breather.”

Lance pushed his hands through his hair, stepping back to let Shiro in. At some point, he’d added a hoodie to his outfit. It was dark blue with “Silfides de Sorreno” written across the shoulders… which reminded Shiro, all too vividly, of seeing Lance at the school, interacting with the little ones and dancing himself. “It really shouldn’t be this complicated! I mean, it’s basically a box, right?”

“I guess? There’s probably a bunch of safety concerns, though… so that might make it more complicated.” He set the tray on the floor in a rare patch of wood that was free of crib pieces and sat down. “Eat. Fuel can only help, right?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, glaring adorably at the instruction sheet for a second before joining Shiro on the floor. “Fresh eyes, right? Isn’t that what Hunk always used to say?”

“Yup- he sure did. Whenever he was trying to get Pidge to eat, or sleep, or bathe…”

“Man, she took hyperfocus to new heights, didn’t she?” Lance chuckled, pouring them each a cup of tea.

“Still does, according to her brother.”

“Man, I haven’t seen Matt in forever. Maybe I’ll descend on Pidge for her birthday. Make her eat real food and sleep in an actual bed instead of at her work desk.”

He laughed, because he had no doubt that Lance would do exactly that if he was visiting Pidge… and he was just as certain that it would drive her completely batty. “That’s one way to make sure you see Matt.”

Lance nodded as he chewed a bite of sandwich, his expressive face conveying his agreement. Finally, he took a sip of tea and laughed softly. “Right? Two days, _tops_ before she’s throwing him in front of me like human caltrops so she can go back to ignoring everything but her latest project.”

Oh.

Oh, he knew this feeling.

He munched on his sandwich and listened, rapt, as Lance launched into a story about the last time he and Matt had hung out. Their antics made him shake his head, but he couldn’t hide the smile on his face.

This warm, bubbling joy that made him want to scrunch his nose.

That tickling shiver that settled between his shoulder blades.

That hollow drop in his belly, like the instant when you catch the updraft.

This familiar, sweet rush of giddy bashfulness that washed over him like a wave.

Infatuation- heady and powerful… but something else, too.

He loved how Lance never grew out of talking with his hands. The gestures were so integral to who Lance was. Whether they were broad and expressive and grand sweeps of his arms, or tiny, quick flutters of his fingers, they added something irresistible to his stories, bridging gaps in the narrative where he sipped his tea, nibbled on a grape, or took a bite of his sandwich.

Something deeper, stronger, quieter.

That solid, steady thrum of years of getting to know one another. A foundation of trust, respect, safe-guarded intimacy.

Oh, damn… this was going to hurt eventually.

“Gremlins, both of them,” Lance was saying through laughter, “but they are _our_ gremlins, so… you know… love the thorns because they are part of the rose.”

“What?”

“Just… something my mother used to say. Ummm… lemme see if I remember the whole thing… It’s like, lots of people want bouquets, because they are beautiful. But they’re dying, right? The flowers are cut, the thorns trimmed off, damaged petals pinched off, most of the leaves stripped away. They are cut and trimmed and dying to look as perfect as possible and lots of people go nuts for them. But, gardeners are different. They know the rose bushes. They put the work in to understand them, protect them, nurture them. They don’t want to see them slowly die in a vase. They love the thorns, because they are part of the rose… So, it’s like… I love Pidge, and I’ll grumble about her not taking care of herself when she’s inspired at work but I’d never demand that she _change_ it, because it is part of what makes her Pidge.”

“So, the ‘thorns’ for Pidge is that she’s a workaholic? Okay… yeah, makes sense.”

“Right? Best advice my mother ever gave me. You can’t really love someone if all you let yourself see and appreciate is the pretty stuff, you gotta _value_ the tougher, prickly bits, too.”

“She’s a wise woman,” Shiro agreed easily. He’d always liked Mrs. McClain. She was a kind-hearted and welcoming woman that had a presence about her that made you feel safe and accepted. Without fail, she’d fuss that he looked tired and tsk him for pushing himself too hard. Then she’d point to a chair and present him with a heaping plate of rice and beans, or buttered, fresh baked bread, or some other homemade tastiness. While he ate, she’d alternate between filling him on all the family news, or peppering him with questions about his life.

Such a lovely person.

Idly, he picked up the instruction sheet for the crib, glancing between it and the slightly abstract-looking work in progress beside him. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought Lance might have put one of the sides on upside-down.

And… that didn’t look like the right reinforcement bracket…

Scooting across the wood floor, he took a closer look, comparing what Lance had built with the instruction sheet. Yeah. Definitely the wrong bracket… and that was for sure upside down, but for the anchor points to line up, that had to mean…

Yep- it was attached to the wrong side of the crib, too.

No wonder nothing else would line up for him!

Thankfully, it was an easy enough fix.

Without even really thinking about it, he grabbed a screw-driver and started pulling apart the crib.

“Hey!” Lance snarked, but there was no heat in it. “That’s my job!”

“Huh? Yeah… I know… just… this is backwards.”

“Those instructions make sense to you?”

“Yeah? I mean… they are basically schematics, right? They remind me of those model kits I used to do as a kid. You know the ones, right? I had the full line of all the first space-worthy research vessels that came out after World War Three. Spent ages getting them just right. I had the good ones, too. The 1:35 ones, not the 1:9 ones. Great for keeping a kid occupied during a hospital stay.” He set the bracket aside and went right back to work.

“Shiro- you don’t have to do this. I’ll figure it out eventually…”

“Lance, just let me do this, okay? You can’t be great at everything. It’s okay if you suck at assembling baby cribs! How often are you going to need that skill in your lifetime, really?”

“You… uh… you think I’m great… at everything?” Lance asked, his voice soft, awed.

Shit.

Probably shouldn’t have said that.

Too late to take it back now, though.

“Pretty much, yeah,” he admitted. “I’ve known you for over ten years and you’ve got an uncanny knack for picking up new skills. You’re a real Jack of All Trades.”

“Jack of All Trades, Master of None,” Lance recited sadly.

“The _rest_ of that expression is important, Lance. It goes ‘a jack of all trades is a master of none, but oftentimes better than a master of one.’ It’s a compliment. People forget that.” He moved on to the next screw holding the crib steady. “Being competent in ten skills is a lot more helpful in day to day life than being really great at one thing and completely inept at everything else. Trust the prodigy on that- you can feed yourself, I can’t.”

“You made lunch, doofus,” Lance countered. “A perfectly edible lunch. You fed us both.”

“You wouldn’t be so enthusiastic about that after three weeks of sandwiches or granola and yogurt for every meal,” he laughed. “I know this from experience. Can you hand me the other kind of bracket? The L-shaped one?”

As Lance located that, Shiro freed the malpositioned section of crib, setting it aside. Based on the pieces spread out on the floor, it was going to be a gorgeous crib once it was assembled. The wood frame looked weathered, silvery like it had been bleached out by the sun. The two short ends of the crib were solid, and made up of that same silvery wood in what looked like wide planks slotted flush to each other, running parallel to the floor. The vertical slats of the long sides were also wooden, but carved and painted to look like heavy rigging rope.

The ‘sailboat thing’ Lance had mentioned sat atop the long side of the crib that was meant to go flush to a wall. Instead of the smooth, narrow line across the railing that topped the short sides, the long sides had a wider rail, painted with a repeating pattern of breaking waves. For the back panel, that wider rail was topped with a wooden silhouette of a sailboat, painted in white and blue and red, and then distressed. There was a slot in the top of the mast that, according to the directions, was meant to hold a mobile that looked like a fishing net. Anchors, life preservers, and various sea creatures made out of what looked like sea glass dangled from the net. Gorgeous.

“Here you go,” Lance murmured, passing over the bracket. “I can’t believe you can make sense of that diagram thing!”

“I’m a visual thinker,” Shiro answered with a shrug. He screwed the bracket into place and used his right arm to maneuver the proper panel into place so he could secure it. “It helps with stuff like this.”

“Yeah, I can tell. Thank-you, I really appreciate the help. Nads is so impatient for pictures. She’s been blowing up my phone- like I’d forget to send her a picture once it was done!?!” The soft laugh died out sooner than he expected and he glanced over to see Lance fidget a little. “But, that reminds me… Yesterday. I was trying to thank you… and explain… about the bar.”

His hand slipped, making the screwdriver skip off the screw. By some stroke of luck, it didn’t gouge the wood, just scraped along the bracket. Shit, that was close. He’d never forgive himself if he’d taken over this job only to damage the crib!

“You… uh… you don’t have to thank me for…” The words choked off at the reminder of… Lance melting in his arms, his skin against his lips, scent in his nose, warm and pliant, that haunting little noise.

God fucking damn it!

This was _not the fucking time_ to be thinking about that.

They were in a baby’s bedroom, for fuck’s sake.

He cleared his throat, because it felt distinctly like it was going to crack and squeak if he tried to speak without doing that. “For… um.. For that. It was nothing.” _Nothing_. Exactly nothing. Despite his reaction to it. Despite the fact that it was the only time he’d ever get to have that with Lance. Despite the fact that it would stick in his mind forever, a tantalizing glimpse into a ‘what if’ that he hadn’t realised he wanted until after that was over. Despite all that, it was nothing… because it didn’t _mean anything_ to Lance beyond a gesture of friendship.

He leaned closer to where he was working, hoping the change in position interrupted Lance’s line of sight to Shiro’s face, because he was definitely blushing like a virgin on prom night.

“Still,” Lance insisted, “I appreciate it… it’s just… I feel like… I should explain.”

Oh God. The _last_ thing he wanted right now was to hear details about Lance’s sex life!

He had to put an end to this topic ASAP!

“You don’t owe me an explanation. You’re a grown man and my friend. I don’t judge my friends.” That was good. Right? Logical. Supportive.

“I know I don’t _owe_ it to you, but you jumped in to help me, so I think you _deserve_ an explanation.” He took a shivery kind of breath, like nerves were getting to him. “Bastian was my best friend when I was really little. It’s weird, being back here in Cuba, sometimes… being younger than people that used to be the same age as me, and being like, disconnected from this huge defining experience that everyone else had. The occupation is this… _thing_ that I will never really understand. Just like how Voltron is something no one who was here on Earth can ever really understand. Sometimes I just feel… displaced, I guess. When I feel like that, I tend to hang out with Marco and Rachel more. Anyway… I was at Marra Macs on a day like that, and in walks Bastian.”

“You know you can reach out to me when you feel like that, right? I get it.” He gave up on working on the crib, deciding that if Lance was going to insist on telling him this stuff, he at least deserved Shiro’s full attention.

“Yeah… yeah of course I know that! It’s just… usually hanging with the twins works,” he shrugged, pushing his hand through his hair. “Bastian… he had been living in Europe for ages and we hadn’t seen each other in years, so we got together to catch up… and it was great. So, we did it again… and then we were hanging out all the time. It was nice. It felt almost like…” Lance trailed off, a blush creeping over his features as he fidgeted. “It was good… and we talked about... pretty much everything. Or, at least, I _thought_ we did.”

“Lance… if this is too painful…”

“No! No, I’m not, like, _broken-hearted_ or anything. Just… kicking myself for thinking that. Anyway, we never hung out as teenagers, because I roomed at the Garrison and he spent summers in Europe… so we started talking all those teenage firsts… and when he found out I was bi… yeah… ummm… things changed. Then, I found out that he had a fiancee… and I... I don’t cheat, and I don’t want to be with someone who is- not even casually. I would have told her about what he was doing, too,” Lance’s eyes were big, pleading. Like he thought Shiro wouldn’t believe him, or blame him, or something.

“I’m sure you had a good reason not to,” Shiro said gently, wanting to reassure him.

“Bastian… he’s a health inspector. If he wanted to, he could get Marra Macs shut down. Marco and Rachel sunk _everything_ they had into that bar. You know me, when I fuck up, I own it. I take whatever lumps I earned and try to make it right and move on… but I can’t risk my brother and sister losing everything because I trusted the wrong person! So… instead of ending things, I’ve just been… putting him off. I know he’s leaving soon, so… I’ve been dodging him.” Chewing his lip, he fiddled with an Allan Key, not even looking at Shiro. “I know it is cowardly and shitty…”

“I think,” Shiro said evenly, with conviction, “it is noble… and smart. You’re right, your siblings don’t deserve to suffer because this Bastian guy is a cheating asshole. But, Lance? You didn’t do _anything_ wrong.”

“Yeah, I did! I had sex with someone else’s fiance!”

“Not knowingly. He lied to you, manipulated you. That’s on _him_. Not you!” Reaching out, Shiro caught Lance’s hand in his own, squeezing it softly. “You were forced into a bad position and instead of blowing it up, you got yourself out of it in a smart, compassionate way. I’m glad I could help last night.”

“You really don’t think I’m an easy mark? Gullible?” He looked more unsure than Shiro had seen in years and Shiro suspected that he hadn’t talked about this with anyone else. “Like… the Nyma thing…”

“Some of the most cynical people I’ve ever met have ended up in a situation like this, or been the one getting cheated on, Lance. It doesn’t make you gullible. The Nyma thing was when you were _seventeen_ and we _alI_ trusted Nyma and Rolo, everyone except Hunk.” It _hurt_ to see Lance be so hard on himself. Like an actual, physical _ache_ in his chest in response to the pain he saw etched into Lance’s beautiful face. “He doesn’t deserve you… and you definitely don’t deserve to be treated like that. You are… Lance, you are easily one of the _best_ people I have ever known.”

For some reason, that made Lance pull back. His face closed off and he folded his hands together, “thanks for the pep talk. I… owe you an apology, too. I overreacted yesterday. I guess I’m more defensive than I thought about all this… and when I saw you roll your eyes at-”

“When you saw what?” That couldn’t be right! Shiro racked his brain, trying to figure out when he’d done that, _why_ he would do that in response to something so obviously painful for Lance.

“You rolled your eyes, when I said we should talk about the night before?”

Oh!

Oh _shit_!

“Lance, I promise, I wasn’t rolling my eyes at you… I was rolling them at myself for not understanding what you were talking about right away!”

“You don’t have to lie to me…”

“I’m not. I’m not lying, I swear. I’d never disrespect a friend like that.”

His expression was still skeptical, but as he studied Shiro’s face, the distrust just… melted away. “Alright. Then… I’m sorry for how I blew up… and the thing I said about you.”

“That I hide behind a facade?” That had stung, but it seemed so out of character for Lance to say, he’d left it alone, for the most part.

“Yeah… I was… just lashing out. It was uncalled for. I’m sorry.”

“Okay. Let’s just consider it water under the bridge, then?”

“Yeah,” his smile was soft, but genuine, so Shiro took that as a good sign, “I’d like that.”

He just nodded, smiling at Lance for a second before turning his attention back to the crib. “Alright, let’s get Bay’s crib set up so you can send the pictures to Nadia.”

* * *

Nadia had been so thrilled with the pictures of the completed crib that she’d spent the entire afternoon and evening spamming him with links to different bedding sets she found online and asking his opinion. At some point Shiro had started adding his opinions to the conversation, and he’d complimented her on her art, which led to her promising to draw him something for his new house.

The kids knew Shiro better than any of the other Paladins, because during the time that Shiro was visiting regularly, Lance’s parents had been taking care of them in the gap between school letting out and Luis and Lisa being done with work. Still, it had been a few years since Shiro had really talked to her and it was nice to see them catching up.

Too nice, in some ways.

His family had welcomed Shiro with open arms. They’d welcomed all of the Paladins, really… but Shiro was the one who was around the most. He’d worked with Veronica on the Atlas, and they’d become good friends as well. Mostly, though, it was that he was the one who’d given Lance the most concrete support when he was drowning in grief. They’d all made sure to let him see how much they appreciated that.

As for Shiro, his parents had passed away before the Kerberos mission, he’d been an only child, and while he had a few cousins, they’d never been close. So, when the McClains had just, sort of, _absorbed_ Shiro into the family, he’d been thrilled. He’d taken it very seriously, too- he wasn’t one for remembering all the birthdays and anniversaries (and who could blame him- there were a _lot_ to keep track of!) but he always sent gifts at Christmas, and fairly often, if he saw something he thought one of them would like, he’d send it to them by way of Veronica. Lisa’s favorite gardening smock (the one with the built in kneepads and utility belt) had been a ‘just because’ gift from him. Likewise, the tea set he’d given Rachel and her husband for their first anniversary never seemed to make it back into the cupboard before it was put to use again.

He’d invited Lance’s parents, siblings, and niblings to his wedding _and_ had arranged accomodations for them. They hadn’t all attended, of course, because farms weren’t something you could leave completely unattended for several days, but his parents and both his sisters had. They’d looked so proud, sitting there beside Krolia, Coran, Sam, and Colleen. Lance was pretty sure his father had wept during the vows, despite the repeated denials of any tears.

So, yeah, it was nice to see Shiro and Nadia getting re-acquainted with each other… but… it hurt, too.

Because Shiro fit, so perfectly, into his family. It was clear that he loved them, individually, and as a family unit. It was obvious that Lance’s family loved him, just as much. They treated him the exact same way that they treated Lisa, and Elena, Rivazi, and Giacomo- like he’d earned a spot in the family by virtue of being in love with one of the members. They didn’t treat Keith, Hunk or Pidge that way. The people Lance had forged a family with in space were always welcome. They had a standing invitation. They were definitely loved.

But _they_ were treated like honored guests.

Lance’s mother would break out the good china and the real napkins and the best tablecloth if Keith and Ryan were in town (with no idea that good china and good table linens were pretty much guaranteed to send the feral little desert rat into an utter panic about ‘ruining them’ somehow). His father would put on a tie to eat with Matt (which was hilarious because if there was anyone who cared _less_ about how someone else was dressed than Matt, Lance would be fucking _shocked_ ). Rachel would play guitar and sing after dinner if Hunk was staying with them. During Romelle’s extended visit, Marco had brought his dog Marinera over to Lance’s place almost every day for Romelle to play with after she’d mentioned that she loved small, energetic dogs.

They didn’t do that with Shiro. It wasn’t that they weren’t willing to put forth the effort, because they absolutely were, it was just that they didn’t feel the need to _entertain_ him. They didn’t think they had to impress him. They’d invite him to join in on whatever activity they were doing. When he offered to chip in with farm chores they didn’t insist that he put his feet up and relax while everyone else worked. They just found a job for him to do that didn’t require a lot of training or supervision.

It was a series of small differences. Lance doubted that Shiro even noticed, but Lance did. It hurt, because it was so easy to imagine what life would be like if Shiro _was_ like Lisa, or Giacomo, and that little flame he’d thought he had carefully banked flared, bright and hot, each and every time Lance thought ‘I could get used to this’. It hurt, because he didn’t have a ‘little crush’ on Shiro, he loved him.

He was in love with Shiro.

It was so obvious now that he had been in love with him since before the wedding. As his love for Allura retreated and changed, and his grief had slowly stopped being so all-encompassing, a new love had surged like the tide. Slowly but surely, it had filled in the raw spots in his heart and soul that had been causing him so much pain and anguish. It was so different from the way he'd been in love with Allura and he’d still been hurting from her loss, so it wasn’t all that surprising that he hadn’t recognized it at first… but now that he had, he couldn’t ignore that truth anymore.

So, when Lance was tucked up in his bed, wrapped in the private solace of his bedroom, and reflecting on the rainy day he’d spent with Shiro, he had to face reality.

And the reality was that when Shiro interacted with his family like he was one of them, when Lance noticed how seamlessly Shiro fit into his life now, when he caught glimpses of Shiro seeming happier and more _at home_ than he ever had, it made him realize just how badly he _wanted this_ , like, permanently.

And it _hurt_.

Sleep came blessedly quickly, sparing Lance a night of staring up at the ceiling and torturing himself with domestic fantasies about his houseguest that he knew full well would never come to pass. He crawled into bed and listened to the rain hit the roof and the windows, and the sound of the wind picking up until he slipped off to dream of Lions and alien worlds and space goo.

Sleep didn’t last long, though.

His phone told him it was barely two am when it buzzed with a lost power alert.

Crap.

Yawning, he dragged his ass out of bed and pulled on a pair of slippers. He could never understand how a power outage made the house darker in the middle of the night when all the lights were _already off_ but it did. He grabbed the flashlight he kept in his room and headed downstairs to investigate.

Sure enough, the rain had progressed to a genuine storm. Wind howled outside and the surf was angry enough that Lance could hear the crashing waves over the wind and rain. It wasn’t surprising that he’d lost power. He loved living on the beach, but it meant he was on the edge of the service area for… pretty much everything.

The power grid for the house was in the laundry room, so he bee-lined to it, making a point to avoid looking at the banks of windows as he passed. It only took a few minutes to restore emergency power. A slight hum built up around him, the shutter system coming online and protecting the windows. Emergency power kept the fridge and freezer running, activated the shutter system and water purifiers, and triggered his primary protection against the elements- the particle barrier. Everything else could wait.

Breathing easier knowing that they were safe until the worst of the storm passed, he exited the laundry room- and walked directly into Shiro’s chest.

They both yelped, undignified, high pitched sounds that wouldn’t have sounded the slightest bit out of place at a sleepover for twelve year old girls.

“Everything okay?” Shiro asked once they both caught their breath.

“Yeah- storm just knocked out a power line. Happens all the time.” He smiled in a way that he hoped was reassuring despite his own frayed nerves. Shiro’s shoulder socket cast a strange blue light over everything, cutting through the inky blackness that power outages caused like soap through an oil slick.

Shiro nodded, and between the blue glow and the flashlight, Lance could see how wide and shocky his eyes were… and the blue made it hard to know for sure, but Lance thought Shiro looked kind of pale, too.

“Not a fan of storms?” he asked quietly.

He shook his head stiffly, “the thunder…”

“Yeah… I’m the reverse. Thunder I’m okay with. It’s the lightning that gets me. Big ol’sparks of electricity… and the taste of the ozone… not a fan.” He rubbed at his upper arm, not liking the way the charge in the air gave him goosebumps. “We’re safe. I… um… I have a particle barrier.”

“You have a particle barrier,” Shiro repeated, “for your _house_?”

“Mmmhmm, courtesy of Coran. You’ve never been through hurricane season here,” Lance pointed out, “the problem isn’t _that_ the wind is blowing, it’s _what_ the wind is blowing during hurricane season… like tree boughs… or… you know… whole ass trees.”

“Okay. Fair point.”

Lance flinched as the sky lit up, and Shiro started counting under his breath. When the thunder rumbled he grabbed Lance’s hand and squeezed.

Not all scars were physical.

“Omega Shield,” Lance said quietly. It wasn’t flashbacks, not really. Just… an unpleasant echo. He wasn’t terrified, he didn’t lose track of where and when he was in reality. It just… reminded him of something awful.

“Gladiatorial spectators stomp their feet,” Shiro answered.

Oh.

Right.

Okay… This called for comfort food and distractions.

“Come on… There’s no windows in the media room, and the snack dispenser is cordless- meaning it runs on batteries.” There were battery powered lamps and candles in there, too. Lance had waited out many a storm in the media room. He led the way, Shiro still clinging to his hand for dear life.

He set up a couple of candles and grabbed a deck of playing cards and they sat side by side on the couch with a beer each and a bag of chips to share. Lance dealt out the cards, “go fish. Not going to expect either of us to remember how to play anything else.”

Before he knew it, an hour had passed. Shiro still seemed pretty distracted and he was struggling to keep up with the game. The lack of windows kept Lance from seeing the flashes of lightning, but it didn’t do much to stop the sound of thunder. Giving up on the game he tossed his cards onto the table and plucked Shiro’s out of his hand to join them. Then he leaned in and hugged Shiro tightly. “You’re safe, Shiro. Nothing’s going to hurt you here.”

“I know,” Shiro answered, tucking his face into the curve of Lance’s shoulder, “not scared… not really…”

“I get it. I do.” He rubbed his hands up and down the curve of Shiro’s spine briskly, trying to cement him in the present a little. “You just hate the reminder.”

“Yeah, exactly! Everytime I hear it, it’s like someone saying ‘don’t think about pink elephants’.”

“What works better for you? Forge on through, or go around?” He wasn’t going to release that hug until Shiro pulled back… for lots of reasons.

This was tapping into an old, old dynamic of theirs. One of the ways they’d helped each other through bad days when their respective losses were still fresh. Forge a path through the painful memories, or find a way around the worst of it- either route left the pain behind you.

Shiro shifted, the hug transitioning to a more comfortable ‘cuddle’. Okay. Lance could work with that. He could cuddle up with Shiro on the couch while the storm raged and offer comfort. He wasn’t such a mess that he couldn’t help his friend.

“Around,” Shiro said, “let’s try going around first.”

“You got it,” he stroked his hand over Shiro’s ribs. “Soooo… you think Keith and Ryan ever actually have conversations? Like, outloud… with words… Or do they communicate entirely in grunts and nuanced glowers?”

“What?” Shiro asked through laughter. “What kind of question is that?”

“It’s a valid question! Neither of them are all that chatty! Oh God, they don’t communicate exclusively through text do they? That would be just weird enough to be something Keith does!”

“They talk,” answered Shiro, still laughing softly. “I’ve seen it.”

“Actually… I think that’s weirder, somehow.”

“Keith isn’t that quiet. He’s been blowing up my phone for days.”

“He has? Just being a nosy jackass? Or is he going through some kind of Keith-crisis… like… they are discontinuing his favorite brand of space wolf kibble, or he’s planning on proposing and he just cannot find a knife that looks good with a tux but doesn’t clash with the wedding colors?”

“Nosy jackass… but, he would definitely be blowing my phone up if they discontinued Kosmo’s food!”

“That is one spoiled space wolf. Don’t get me wrong, Kosmo deserves it- poor boy is tasked with the job of keeping _Keith_ from doing something stupidly heroic.”

“I never looked at it that way before… more treats for Kosmo when they visit!”

“He’s earned them!”

It was easy enough to keep Shiro focused on light-hearted things. There was such an overlap in their social circles that all Lance had to do was make an observation about one of their friends and it would spark some funny anecdote, or speculation. They’d done this kind of thing so many times that it was almost like muscle memory.

Admittedly, they hadn’t done a whole lot of couch cuddling before… but it really wasn’t all that different from a comforting hug… and they’d exchanged lots of those over the years.

Other than the occasional laugh, they spoke in hushed tones. Something about the candle seemed to prompt them to treat the conversation like one shared at a slumber party- a whispered exchange full of conspiratorial observations and secrets.

They’d almost exhausted tales of their mutual acquaintances when Shiro fell quiet, humming softly as he seemed to gather his thoughts. After a few minutes, he spoke again.

“That thing you said… about me,” he whispered, “it reminded me of something Keith said…”

He knew exactly what Shiro was talking about. The dig he’d made when he had lost his temper. In his defensiveness, he’d voiced something that came from a selfish, jealous place inside him. He hated when he did that. “Shiro, I shouldn’t have said it…”

“But… it was so close to what Keith said… I can’t help but wonder how true it is…”

Heart in his throat, he relented, because he wanted to help Shiro. He’d just… be careful in how he answered. He could do that. It was not _fun_ , but he could swallow his pride and pettiness for a single conversation. It would be fine. Fine. “Okay, I’ll bite… if you really want to talk about this, sure… What did Keith say?”

Shiro went impossibly still, “he said that… I don’t let people see me be dorky, or scared, or selfish…”

“Yikes! Man, Keith can be harsh sometimes.” He reflected for a moment, “selfish? Ouch! You are not someone I’d describe as selfish… I’m not sure where Keith gets that idea… but I’ve seen you be dorky and scared...”

“Yeah… you have… I don’t think he was saying I _am_ selfish, like a selfish person… more like everyone is selfish sometimes and I hide it when I am.”

“And I said you hide behind your public image… ah… Okay,” he sighed, he really hated that he hadn’t caught himself _before_ that comment had slipped out. “I’m sorry, Shiro. That must have hit hard after what Keith said. I wish I could unsay it.”

“No… I’m not angling for an apology… I’m… I don’t know… reflecting, I guess. Can I ask you something?”

Well, this could go all kinds of terrible ways… but there wasn’t really any positive outcome if he said ‘no’, either… so… “Yeah, of course. You can ask me anything, Shiro.”

“Before the wedding…” Shiro paused and Lance felt his gut bottom out on him, dread settling into his veins like ice water. “Pretty much everyone pulled me aside to give me one of those ‘I love you and I support you one hundred percent, so if you decide to bolt, I’ll drive’ speeches. You didn’t. Keith told me he thought I was rushing things, he wasn’t sure that Curtis was right for me. I thought it was… just… Keith knew Adam, so…”

Oh this was gonna hurt, Lance could already tell.

“Did you know? Back then… before the wedding… Keith knew. Did you know it wasn’t going to work?”

“Uh…” He took a breath, letting the question rattle around in his head, “I… trusted your judgement. I liked Curtis, still do. I’ve never been married, so it’s not like I have any experience to draw on… this is complicated…”

“It’s really not that complicated, Lance. Did you think I was making a mistake? Were you surprised when it fell apart?”

“I… wanted you to be happy. That’s where my focus was. I was concentrating on doing whatever I could to help you have what you wanted, and… you know… that was Curtis, so… I tried not to think too much about it beyond what you wanted. But… when it fell apart… I was sad for you… but no, I wasn’t really that surprised.” That wasn’t terrible. It was the truth, at least… and it made sense for a friend to feel that way. Lance was pretty pleased with himself.

“Why weren’t you surprised, Lance?”

_Fuck!_

Fuckfuckfuckfuck… what _the fuck_ was he supposed to say to that? He didn’t want to lie to Shiro… but… fuck, this was such thin fucking ice for him, emotionally. One misstep and it could all shatter...

“I…. ummm.. I guess, it always seemed to me that… Curtis… didn’t see all of you. Like… maybe he bought into the whole ‘Shiro The Hero’ thing a bit too much. So… when you said you were going to retire… I had kind of a sinking feeling about it…”

“Why didn’t you tell me that before the wedding?” Shiro shifted, twisting so that he was able to see Lance’s face in the low light.

Lance shrugged, not able to meet his eyes, “what if I was wrong? And if I wasn’t, why would you believe me? What if I said something and you hated me for it?”

“I could never hate you, Lance,” he breathed, sounding stricken at the thought. “I could never hate you… and you… you know me better than anyone… except maybe Keith… but you know _people_ better than him. You’ve got good instincts. I would have… at least _considered_ what you had to say. How could you think I wouldn’t?”

“It’s not that simple,” he protested, “I liked Curtis. You seemed so happy, excited. I… wanted you to be happy… and if I said anything...” Lance shook his head, if he’d said anything at the time, who knew what kind of stuff would come spilling out of his mouth.

He liked Curtis… Curtis was fun, and charming. Funny, playful. He was smart and kind. Hard working and brave. Loved kids and animals. Patient, supportive. He was one of Veronica’s best friends, because _”when you were missing, hanging out with Curtis made you feel a little closer. You’re so much alike. He reminds me a lot of you, Lance.”_

He’d been focused on being a good friend to Shiro… because if his focus shifted from that for even an instant, he was afraid he’d get swamped with… dark things. He’d lost Allura, and it had felt like he was done with romance. For so long, it had been _unfathomable_ that he’d ever be interested in dating _anyone_ ever again… and then… it wasn’t unfathomable anymore… and that _spark_ was back… whenever he thought of Shiro… and then Shiro started dating _someone who was a lot like him_...

...And then they’d gotten engaged.

It was so hard not to resent that.

So hard not to be bitter.

And he felt like slime whenever he let himself even _think_ about any of that. So, he’d just… focused on wanting Shiro to be happy.

“You seemed so happy,” he repeated feebly.

“You are something else,” Shiro sighed, shaking his head.

Lance flinched, “sorry… I’ll… just…”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“For… uh… not saying anything?” He would have thought that was obvious, given the subject at hand.

“You don’t have to apologize for that, Lance. I’m not angry about it. I just wanted to know your reasons… in case… maybe you thought I knew that… like, maybe you thought I _wanted_ to be with someone who… you know… saw me as ‘Shiro The Hero’... or I wanted to _hide_ behind my image...”

“I think… you have more reason than anyone to not want to be seen as weak,” he said carefully, “when you were a kid, you had to fight so hard to prove that you were strong. It was so important to you that you could show the world that you were stronger than your diagnosis… and then… you had to be the Champion. Show no weakness. Then Black Paladin, with a bunch of scared kids trailing after you. Then the face of the Coalition- you had to inspire confidence, make people feel safe. That… is a stupid amount of pressure to be strong, all the damn time… and maybe… it was less about hiding and more about… _hope_. Hope that maybe Curtis _did_ see the real you. Maybe that whole public image might be _real_. There’s nothing wrong with _hope_ Shiro, and there’s nothing wrong with wanting to be… stronger, either… and you loved Curtis, I know you did. You married him because you loved him, not because you were trying to hide anything.”

“You,” Shiro sighed, shaking his head, a soft smile playing at his lips, “Lance… you are so amazing.”

Yup. There was that hurt he’d known was going to happen… because Shiro sounded so… and his eyes when he said that… and his smile…

It was just _so easy_ , crowded close together like this, in the soft light of the candle… to think he saw…

… and the reminder that he _didn’t_ had to be fast. Lightning fast. Faster than the speed of hope.

Because, he didn’t.

Shiro looked at him and saw his friend.

A close and cherished friend, sure… but still…

Just his friend.

And Lance… he treasured that friendship, he really did… so he couldn’t let hope take root.

“I’m not,” shaking his head, he got a hold of himself. “I just know you.”

“You are, though,” insisted Shiro, his expression intense, like he could _will_ Lance to believe him.

“I’m really not ‘amazing’! I’m just… a guy. A normal guy, Shiro.”

Fucking _hope_... it was so damn fast… so fast.

“No, Lance… Listen. I know a lot of people… trust me, you are _amazing_.”

“Shiro, stop it. I’m just a regular person. Nothing special. Come on.” _Please_ let him just drop it. Lance could not take it if Shiro kept looking at him like that and saying such sweet things. It was too hard.

It _hurt_.

“I wish you could see what I see,” breathed Shiro, because the universe fucking hated Lance or something. “You are… brave, and kind… and selfless. You… fight so hard for the things you believe in. You feel things so deeply, especially the bad stuff, but you don’t shy away from getting attached. You are so resilient, and determined. No matter how many times you get knocked back, you get back up and-”

“Shiro stop!” He barked, startling himself with how loud he was being. Panic and pain churned in his chest, making it hard to breathe, hard to _think_. “You have to stop! Please! I… can’t… You can’t keep… _saying_ this stuff to me! The whole… thing up in the nursery with you telling me I’m one of the best people you’ve known, and now… all of… this… I can’t! I can’t handle you saying this stuff, and looking at me like… I can feel it, you know? It started with performing, teaching… but it’s stronger, ever since Voltron… and all those stealth missions… I can feel it… eyes on me. I can feel when people are watching me. I can feel _you_ watching me… and then you say this stuff and… I…”

Shiro was looking at him like he’d just sprouted wings and a tail. Because _of course_ he was! Lance had just blown up at him without warning, over him saying _nice things_. He probably thought he was out of his mind!

“You… what?” he asked, grey eyes locked on Lance’s, voice barely audible as he leaned in, impossibly close, “I say this stuff and you… what? Lance?”

“Hope,” he whispered, tears welling in his eyes, “I… I try not to… but… I… hope… I hope.”

“You…” He was so close that Lance felt the word more than he heard it. It swept over his skin like a puff of smoke, and then lips brushed against his own and before he could fully register what was happening he was craning forward.

A strong arm wrapped around his back, fingers splaying between his shoulder blades and pulling him closer even as the deepening kiss tipped him back.

_Holy Shit!_

Shiro’s weight settled over him and he shuddered. It felt so damn good!

Canting his head to one side he returned the kiss eagerly, one of his hands finding its way into that pale, satiny hair, the other flattening against Shiro’s pec.

Warm metal fingers cradled his jaw… warm, not cool like in his dreams.

This was _real_ and it was so much better than anything his sleeping mind had created!

One kiss and his skin was already sizzling with desire.

“Lance,” Shiro purred into the trailing ends of the kiss. Lifting his head to gaze into Lance’s eyes, he smiled, “you’re amazing. You amaze _me_... so… hope. Please… I know I am… There’s nothing wrong with hope, right?”

“Shiro…” He whispered, awed, “I… what…”

“I didn’t think… you saw me like that…” Shiro murmured.

“Shiro, you… adorable idiot... “ he giggled, almost high on happiness, “I have eyes.”

“Gorgeous eyes,” he agreed, smirking, “you’re gorgeous.”

Yeah- that was going to take some getting used to. Compliments from Shiro were just too potent!

“Lance? Are you blushing?” Shiro traced one finger along his eyebrow.

“Shuddup,” he muttered, pulling Shiro down to silence his soft chuckles with another kiss.

That was… definitely the best plan that Lance had had in _years_. Kissing Shiro was now, officially, his favorite way to pass a power outage. The couch they were own was designed for gaming, not teen-level necking sessions, but he had a hard time caring about that with Shiro’s hand running up and down his thigh, and the not-quite-tickle of Shiro’s whiskers against his throat.

His fingers bunched in Shiro’s shirt, dragging the fabric up as he clutched at his broad back like it could anchor him in reality somehow. His dreams about Shiro had been _so_ vivid! They’d been raunchy and positively filthy. The sex had been laced with desperation, passion that bordered on violent.

 _This?_ Was definitely not _that_!

 _This?_ Was steeped in something softer, more tender. It was cautious… in a good way. Shiro touched him like he was learning him. He kissed him like he was laying the foundation of something precious. Filthy and raunchy had its place, but somehow, this managed to be _better_.

“Lannnce,” he sighed, nuzzling his ear and setting off little cascading ripples of reaction. “God… love that little noise… haven’t been able to get it out of my head…”

“Shirrrro… more…”

“Mmm… like that better, though…” Lifting his head, he smiled down at Lance, and… holy hell, he was so beautiful with that look on his face.

Lance took advantage of the sudden space between them to free Shiro of his shirt, dropping it to the floor behind the couch. He let his gaze rake over all those gorgeous muscles, leaning up on his elbow to do something he _had_ dreamed about… more times than he could count.

Shiro jolted a little when Lance pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the first raised, corded scar. “That okay?” he asked, eyes flicking up to meet Shiro’s, “I know sometimes scar tissue feels… weird…”

Breathless, Shiro shook his head, “no… not weird… just… wasn’t expecting it…”

“So, it’s okay?” he asked again, watching Shiro’s face. His smile was a little… nervous… but it seemed genuine and he nodded. “If that changes… tell me… I wanna make you feel good…”

“You do,” he whispered nuzzling Lance’s temple.

One by one, Lance sought out every scar he could reach, trailing criss-crossing paths of hot little kisses over Shiro’s chest. Shiro shifted and moved to make it easier for Lance to dole out his attentions. By the time he got to the gnarly scar that wrapped around Shiro’s hip bone and up his side they’d somehow managed to flip themselves around completely. Shiro was sprawled out on his back on the opposite end of the couch with his natural arm flung over his eyes, and his prosthetic hand buried in Lance’s hair. Breathless and trembling, he kept murmuring Lance’s name, the deep rumble his voice had taken on making Lance decide that he was pretty much never going to stop crawling over him to kiss each and every old injury ‘better’.

“You are so hot,” he purred, sucking a little mark into being just above his waistband to join the dozen or so others that were scattered over that incredible torso.

“Holy shit,” he panted, squirming slightly, “Lannnnce…”

“Mmmm?” He dragged his tongue over one nipple, making Shiro gasp as it pulled tight, the tiny bead beckoning him to nibble at it.

“C’mere…” He pulled Lance up into a hungry kiss like he weighed nothing. Arms and legs coiled around him, pinning him against Shiro from shoulders to knees.

Lance had never been particularly turned on by the thought of being immobilized, despite (or maybe because of) his history of ending up handcuffed… but…

Holy shit, that was so fucking hot!

Head swimming, he moaned into the kiss. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d reacted this strongly to someone. His whole body tingled and ached to be touched, making him squirm and wriggle in an attempt to feel _more touch_ somehow.

Shiro had always been a ‘take it slow’ kinda guy from what Lance had seen and heard, but the way he was dragging at Lance’s clothes didn’t really match up with that. His pajama top vanished in record time, the kiss barely even breaking to slip it over his head… and then he was bare chest to bare chest with one of, if not _the_ hottest guy he’d ever encountered (and listen, Lotor was a lot of awful things, and far from Lance’s favorite person, but the guy was seriously fucking hot… as were the several other guys that had played a role in Lance realizing that somewhere along the way he’d stopped assessing the attractiveness of the men around him as a way to gauge the competition and was just plain ol’eye fucking them because he was _seriously_ into guys).

Shiro was gorgeous and sexy as fuck… and also genuinely amazing, and somehow, he wanted Lance! Somehow, Shiro was kissing him like he’d been starved for his taste. Somehow, his hand was palming Lance’s ass, rough and eager. Somehow, they’d ended up rutting against each other, Shiro’s cock hard and huge and insistent his own, scorchingly hot even through the flannel and cotton of their pajama pants.

It felt so goddamn good.

All of it.

The kisses…

The touches...

The tight embrace…

The snug, rolling, almost desperate grind of cock against cock.

Even the way Shiro’s chest shook and stuttered beneath him as his breath hitched and caught felt amazing. The kisses muffled the noises they were making, but not so much that Lance couldn’t hear the little gasps, or the way Shiro’s breathing slowly morphed into the _most incredible_ fucked out rasps and moans as the pace of their grinding ramped up.

He was gonna cum…

His whole body was wound tight and his hips were moving of their own accord and his skin felt too hot and molten pressure coiled in his gut, burned in his thighs and hips and he genuinely felt like he was going to fucking _explode_...

He was soooo gonna cum…

He was going to bust a nut in his pants from dry-humping on a couch like a high school kid and he did _not_ care because it felt too damn good to stop. Even knowing there was a great big bed, and lube, and condoms in his room directly above them and in the space of two minutes flat he could be gearing up for _actually fucking Shiro_ wasn’t enough to make him break his rhythm.

He was _way_ too far gone for that now.

Metal fingers clutched at his hair, holding him to the kiss as Shiro bucked beneath him; hips stuttering, spine bowing, and a groan so low and powerful escaping him that Lance felt the sound buzz through him.

Shiro was…

_Fuck…_

Shiro was _cumming_ and that knowledge was so goddamn mind blowing that it tipped Lance right over the edge himself.

All that churning, scorching heat that had been building up burst through him, wringing him out so hard and fast that his eyes rolled back in his head and he bit down on Shiro’s lip as he soaked the flannel pants he was still wearing with his own cum.

He was still humming with pleasure when the fingers in his hair relaxed their grip, carding through the fine strands instead. Shiro gave a breathless little laugh, tipping his head so he could kiss Lance’s cheeks and temple and forehead gently before tucking Lance up under his chin. They lay there for several minutes in relative silence, only their ragged breathing and the occasional little murmur of blissed out noise escaping one or the other of them as they settled back down from that high.

“Wow,” Lance whispered eventually, lifting his head to smile at Shiro, his eyes filled with questions.

“Yeah…” Shiro did that eyebrow trace thing again and Lance got butterflies.

“Ummm… so… probably no shock to hear that I… uhh… I am so into you. Like… stupidly into you…”

Shiro laughed, his whole face lighting up, “not the most poetic way to put it… but… yeah… after… uhh… _that_... safe to say that it’s probably not a shock to hear I feel the same way…”

“Really?” Lance couldn’t help the way his nose scrunched, or the way his smile grew until it almost hurt, because… this still didn’t feel real… and in a way it still _was_ a shock to hear that, because it was _Shiro_ and he’d always seemed kind of… untouchable.

“Yes, really,” his silvery eyebrows bunched up and Lance’s brain still hadn’t engaged enough for him to translate the expression beyond how adorable it looked. “I haven’t exactly kept it a secret how amazing I think you are…”

“I dunno if you noticed this about you,” Lance whispered conspiratorially, “but you are kind of a big hype man for your friends… which is awesome… but…”

“Mmm… let me clarify, then… Lance, you are incredible and gorgeous… and it’s been killing me to be so close and not be able to touch you or kiss you and… now that I _have_ I really, really don’t want to stop… like… ever.”

“Oh.” His heart was pounding so hard he could barely hear anything but the blood rushing through his veins.

“You are… like a force of nature,” he continued, “like… what were those things you said the dance school is named after? The air elemental things?”

“Silfides? The sylphs?”

“Yeah… Sylphs. You’re a sylph- how you light up when you are piloting, or the way you can fly when you dance… and how the wind seems to love you… and you are like… being around you makes it so much easier to _breathe_.” He shrugged, “I’m not great at explaining… you’re like… my very own slyph… just… you’re magic.”

“Not great at explaining?” he echoed in disbelief. His poor heart couldn’t seem to decide if it was going to burst, or race, or just fucking stop altogether. Who knew that Shiro had the ability to _kill_ him with a few words? “Shiro, you called me magic… you called me _your_ slyph… yours…”

Shiro’s eyes widened, something like panic creeping into the soft grey. “I meant like… I’m the only one that sees it… sees that you are magic and a force of nature. Not… like… _mine_... unless… I mean… I’d love that… if you… uh… wanted to be… mine, I mean. Not… in a creepy way… like… ‘be mine’... like… in a Valentine kinda way…” He huffed, blushing so hard his ears turned red and scowling in frustration.

It was so hard not to giggle at how fucking _cute_ that was!

“Like… a ‘my boyfriend’ kinda way?” he whispered, watching Shiro’s face as the frustration gave way to relief.

“Yeah… in a ‘my boyfriend’ kinda way… if you want… or even in a ‘maybe my boyfriend down the road’ kinda way, if you think that’s rushing things…”

“Dating is about getting to know each other well enough to decide if you want to be together,” he pointed out softly, “do you think you need to get to know me _better_ than you do now?”

Shiro shook his head softly, and the look on his face was… it made Lance’s _soul_ give a happy little shiver. “No… you?”

“Not even a little bit better,” he answered, unable to resist the urge to kiss him softly. “We should head up to bed… get cleaned up…”

“Yeah… probably…”

“I never did show you my bedroom on that tour of the house… let’s fix that...”

* * *

Over the last couple of months, he’d developed a kind of sixth sense. Lance teased him about it, but Shiro knew it was mostly good natured jealousy. So, he’d already saved the document he was working on, left the couch where he’d been working, and was halfway up the stairs when he heard that soft, hiccuping cry. His hand was already on the doorknob to the nursery when the first true wail cut through the house.

McClain lungs.

She was sitting in the crib that Shiro had assembled, rubbing at her eye, inky black hair sticking out in every direction and tugging her ear as she cried.

Poor little thing. She was too distraught to have even noticed that he’d come into the room until he reached the crib. As soon as she spotted him, she switched to full on shrieking, throwing herself onto her back and kicking in protest.

Ah. So, hungry. He’d learned to decipher her cries pretty well, but she was usually a sweet-tempered, social little one who was thrilled to be rescued from the evil crib by anyone she knew and trusted. She only reacted like this when she wanted food and was greeted by anyone other than her mother.

“Awww… Bay,” he cooed, scooping her up, “you know, if you’d just take a _bottle_ or even a sippy cup then Mama wouldn’t be the only one who could feed you.” _Technically,_ if they were stuck, he could warm up some of the frozen breastmilk and spoon feed her, but she wasn’t a fan of that, either. Thankfully, Nadia would be back shortly. She was just running to the store to pick up Bay’s prescription and some other supplies before the storm that was brewing over the water hit the shores.

It didn’t take him long to change the baby and distract her with a chewy toy meant for teething. She couldn’t have been too hungry, because by the time they got back downstairs, the tears had stopped and she was cuddled into his chest, clutching her favorite toy- the floppy little soft toy hippo Keith had given her.

With Nadia running her errand and Lance still on his way back from the farm after helping with the livestock, they were the only ones home. It had taken a while for it to feel like _his_ home, and not eerily empty without Lance’s presence, but it did now. He settled into the rocking chair that the baby liked and made faces at her, trying to jolly a couple of giggles out of her before the pain medicine for her ear infection wore off.

He didn’t manage to earn a laugh, but she did grace him with a few wide, toothless, drooly smiles, and even one of those kick and bounce combos she did when she was excited. He counted that as a win.

It was short-lived though, lightning lit the sky and startled her, the keening noise that told him she was about to start crying again almost drowned out the thunder that came right on its heels. “Ohhhh sweetie… it’s okay,” he shushed, cradling her against his chest so she could hear his heartbeat as he rose to his feet and started pacing with her. “Mama will be home soon and so will Uncle Lance and you’ll feel better and have lots of fun playing.”

She didn’t like the wind, and neither of them liked the thunder, but it was the lightning that seemed to spook her the most, so by the time Lance and Nadia arrived home, one on the other’s heels, Shiro and Bay were ensconced in the media room, slow dancing to the crooners playlist that the baby loved for some reason (Lance claimed it was because she was going to be the next world’s best ballroom dancer, Shiro suspected it was because Nadia had spent the last few weeks of her pregnancy hanging out at the dance school office next to the room where the ballroom classes were being held, waiting for Lance finish up several days a week).

“Bay,” Lance scolded playfully, smoothing her dark hair and kissing the top of her head, “are you trying to steal my fiance away? You’re pretty irresistible, but I have it on good authority that he is very happy with me, so… not gonna happen, precious.”

Shiro rolled his eyes, but gave Lance a welcome home kiss, all the same. “Very, very happy,” he confirmed, “also, she threw up on my face yesterday, so…”

“Rain’s started,” Nadia informed them as she stepped into the room. Bay got one look at her mother and transformed into a slippery, wriggling tangle of limbs. “Someone’s hungry, hmmm?” She rescued Shiro from the terrifying prospect of dropping the infant and headed back to the rocking chair. “I looked it up! Babies walk on average at fourteen months, and she’s four months now, so if you set the date for a year from now, she will probably be walking well enough to be your flower girl!”

Lance shook his head, “so we have Veronica and Keith claiming all the credit for us getting together in the first place, saying they were the matchmakers for convincing you to stay here. Rivazi saying we only got engaged when we did to beat her to the proposal… and now Nadia is picking our wedding date for us?”

“Ehhh, let’em,” Shiro said with a shrug. He pulled Lance into his arms properly and let him lead them in a dance, not wanting to waste the romantic music that was playing. “We know that we fell in love at our own pace. They just want to be a part of our happiness.”

“I guess,” Lance said with an exaggerated sigh, “at least Veronica is keeping Keith from being able to take all the credit.”

“There is that, yes,” he chuckled, “I know that is important to you.”

“Listen- I know you love him like a brother and he’s one of my best friends… but… also…. He’s a smug pain in the ass about shit like this, and you know it.”

“I know, I know.” He tipped his head down to kiss Lance, taking the time to enjoy it properly. “I love you, and as far as the wedding is concerned, the date doesn’t matter to me. All I care about is that my Sylph is going to be meeting me at the altar and leaving as my husband.”

“I’m still enjoying getting to come home to you every night and getting to call you my fiance,” Lance replied, “I’m in no rush to start stressing out about wedding plans.”

“Perfect. Me either… but we are definitely doing it once Bay can walk, right?”

“Absolutely- and there’s like a one year window where she’s going to be prime flower girl cuteness, and I’ll be damned if _Veronica_ is going to snipe that away from us! We’re the ones who lived through the colic! We get first dibs on the world’s cutest flower girl.”

“One year then,” he said, voice soft and full of awe. “I can’t wait.”

~~Fini~~

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed the story :)  
> -Ebh


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